Remember Me Remastered
by doberman
Summary: Rated M for gore, sex, adult themes and language. Don't read if you dislike M/M pairing. I started this fic ages ago and never finished it, so I decided to give it another go. Price/Soap, but what happens when Soap dies? There is a medication that can bring him back, however he won't remember the past. What will Price do? Will Soap ever remember his true love?
1. Last Words

I started this fic ages ago and never finished it on another account so I figured I'd give it a go! Please leave reviews they're extremely helpful and motivating!

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"P-Price…" Plump, scarred lips trembled as he attempted to speak.

"Soap, don't talk, just rest…" Price ordered, pressing against the younger soldier's chest; trying to maintain pressure on numerous wounds. _How he hated multi-tasking._ He only had so many bloody hands, but he'd willingly do anything for Soap.

" ** _Price…"_** Soap ground out again, however, the weakness in his voice foreshadowed only the painful outcomes Price refused to acknowledge. Still, Price raised a brow, his delicate gaze softening as he at least acknowledged Soap's obvious plea for him to _listen_.

Price gave a nod, go on son, prompting Soap's hand to gravitate towards Price as though the man were a magnet.  
The feeling of the other's hand tightening around his own was like instant pain release, unaware that his current grip had the potential to break bone due to the surges of pain flashing through him, lightening accompanying his storming mind. " _Makarov… knows… Yuri…"_

Absent, with the exception of frantic desperation as he inwardly begged Soap to continue drawing breathe, the words are sucked up as if by an unseen sponge, subconscious soaking them up while allowing Price to deal with the current situation. Thick eyebrows knitted together in a harsh frown as Soap declined, becoming limp. Disbelief, more than anything coursed through him. There was an element of betrayal, from his perspective. Soap had played himself out to be this hard bastard who could handle anything. But before Price lay the scene that proved all he thought he knew about Soap as a lie. As it turned out, the lad wasn't as indestructible as Price had mapped him out to be. He'd set himself up for this hurt, but there was no way he wanted to even consider breaking that down right now.

" _Y-You… need to know…"_ The younger soldier muttered, trying to pull Price closer.

Obviously obeying, the older man leant in, so much so that he was almost _on top_ of the wounded man. _It wouldn't be the first time…_ **This wasn't the time.** "Need to know what?"

Slow. That wasn't even the word to describe it. _Painfully_ slow. Agonising torture. Price waited patiently for as long as a man could when his partner was dying. " _What do I need to know?"_

In what Price deemed to be one of the most gentle, fragile whispers, Soap replied. _"I…I'm sorry."_

Surprised by the words, Price momentarily considered what Soap had to be sorry for. Had he done something? Had he said something?

The older man then felt something against his ear, something familiar. It was the wonderful, steamy, hot breath that belonged to Soap; caressing the soft skin that covered his _lucky_ cheek. It could only mean one thing.

" _I l-love…I lo-"_ MacTavish was interrupted, his internal systems shutting down causing him to wheeze. His breath was growing short and raspy, a clear sign of panic, his body instinctively shivering and shaking in the arms of his Captain.

Price whined, holding Soap closer; or as close as he could without injuring him further. _"You love_ _what? Who_ _?"_

Soap could only give a weak smile, ever the character even on his death bed, before it faded into a painful, sad, lonely frown. _"_ _I love_ _…"_ the expression fell solid, like rock. The type of rock you knew would be lonely if it were _alive_. The type of rock that has been around for decades, having to watch its friends and family kicked around, thrown into the sea. His expression was one Price never wanted to see, never wanted to _witness_.

The younger soldier winced, lifting his gloved index finger to Price's chest, as if pointing at him. _You._

Then, Soap coughed, allowing the darkness to truly take him as it swept over his mind like a chilled blanket. He'd always expected death to be a sweet release, silent and full of relief. Yet here he was, aching from the pain and regret, surrounded by the violent thundering of bloodthirsty guns. It was horrible.  
Searing suffering right up until his final breath, he forces one last weak smile at Price before stilling, his chest unmoving, lips parted and eyes wide and staring, eerily vacant. The shaking had stopped, and the warm heat against Price's cheek faded to nothing. Soap's hand slipped from Price's grip and his arm hit the table with a thud.

" _No_ _…"_ Price uttered, gazing down at the lifeless body of his friend, dare he say, _lover._ _"_ _No… no, no,_ ** _no, NO!_** _"_ His voice suddenly raised, shaky and full of anguish _._ " ** _SOAP! NO!_** _" Distraught, Price clutched at Soap's chest, pulling him up from the table and shaking him, as though trying to wake him from_ _sleep_ _.  
Soap __wasn't indestructible_ _. None of those around him were. But he'd opened himself up to Soap. He connected with him. Soap meant more to him than he'd ever dared to express, and his mind was flooded with the sudden awareness that his friend was gone. The stop sign had been planted and Price would have to go on without him._

"Price! You have to _go_ , now!" One of the men that had been watching the windows had now decided to appear, most definitely at the _wrong_ time, placing a hand on the Captain's shoulder.

"Ge' off me!" Price snarled, _shoving_ the man away from him.

 _He's gone. He's really gone._

Turning back to the unmoving body, he watched for a moment, trying to hold back the emotions that begged for release. _Men don't cry_. The other had been right though, Price did need to go if he wanted to survive. Soap wouldn't want him to just give up there and then, no matter how the exhaustion tried to barter with him. He pulled out the M1911 pistol that sat in his back holster, and slowly, carefully placed it on Soap's chest. A pistol full of _many_ memories. Just above a heart so _full_ of meaning.

 _No more._

" _I'm sorry_ _…"_ Price whispered, pulling his journal from one of his vest's pockets before lowering his head onto Soap's shoulder, pressing an unseen kiss on the dead man's ear. _"_ _I'm so sorry, Soap._ ** _I love you too_** _._ _"_


	2. Memory One

"It's so bloody _cold_ ," Soap complained, dusting the snow from his boots so it didn't melt in the tent and piss everyone off, _more_ than they already were. Or maybe it was just him.

"Not complainin' again are you, Captain?" Ghost chuckled, his voice taut from the weather, typical British hoarse.

"Maybe I am, maybe ah'm not. It's none of your concern," The Scot replied harshly. He's too damn _cold_ for banter.

Ghost could only hum, cocky in the presence of Roach.

"Leave 'im alone you two. Just 'cause 'e's done eighty times more work than you today doesn't mean you can take the _piss_ ," Price interrupted, his voice a husky vibrato.

Soap smirked, shivering. You'd think for a man with as much muscle as him, he'd be comfortable. Then again, it was fat that kept you warm, and god forbid having any of that on him. Nonetheless, Price appreciated his work? What an honour.

"Oi!" Ghost snapped.

Price glared in response, challenging if he _really_ wanted to argue with his Captain.

"Uh… never mind…" The soldier stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't 'ave anything t' say anyway…" He grumbled.

"Wow, impressive," Roach remarked.

"What was tha', Bug boy?" Ghost glared.

"The mask is misleading."

"Oh yeah? 'ow so?" Even with the sunglasses on, one could tell the Brit was squinting.

"Well I mean it's a skull, and yet you appear to have no backbone," Roach smirked.

 _"_ _I'll show you_ _bone_ _you little runt!"_ Ghost gripped Roach by the shoulder as he got to his feet, dragging his victim out of the tent for some form of a beating.

Rolling his eyes, Soap grunted. _"_ _Kids_ _…_ _"_ he complained, laying himself down so that he could rest his head on his hat, which he'd rolled up. The low snort of his Captain drew his attention, eyes blinking open. " _What_?" He asked.

"Nothing," Price replied, his gaze full of amusement as it settled on the younger man's face.

"No, go on, ya might as well tell me. It's not like we've got anythin' _else_ t' talk about."

Price sighed. "You really do complain a lot, mate," he grinned.

"I learnt fr'm th' best," Soap smirked.

"Oi!" The older man barked, defensive, yet knowing Soap was _completely_ right.

"Y' know I'm right, Cap'n," Soap shrugged.

" _Yeah_ …" Price nodded, fixing the hat that sat on his head. "As if I'd admit i' though."

Soap let out a breath, raising a brow at the silence.  
Their team was isolated, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by snow, ice, and danger. It wasn't a silence of _comfort_ , either. It was the wilderness' orchestra, playing like violins in a horror movie, waiting for the sudden terror to come crashing down like wave of a crescendo.  
He could feel himself shivering again, which was embarrassing. He came across as this strong, capable man, yet here he was, unable to keep even _himself_ warm. He bet Price wasn't _amused_ like he claimed to be, only humoured by his soldier's pathetic inabilities.  
Awkwardly, he scratched at the side of his face, closing his eyes in attempt to eliminate the discomfort between them. Soap didn't understand _why_ he felt uncomfortable. After all, he and Price were very _close_. They'd been through hell together; they'd seen almost everything the world had to offer. Although now that he'd thought about it, he hadn't seen all Price _himself_ had to offer.  
Nor had Price seen everything Soap had to offer.  
Good friends had their limits though, _right_? Grunting, Soap clung to the thin, cotton blanket that lay shrivelled beside him, and hugged it close for warmth.

"You cold?" The older voice once again spoke out.

Soap rolled his eyes. _Hadn't they just had this conversation?_ "Christ Price, your age is gettin' the better of y'," he smirked teasingly.

Price scowled. "How so?" He clearly didn't get the joke, which was unusual.

Raising a brow, Soap bit his lower lip. In fact, during the past few weeks, Price had become seemingly _short_ with him. Yes, they still had their banter, and their cocky teasing sessions, however lately, Price seemed rather vacant when it came to come backs.  
Whenever Soap turned to give his Captain some sort of grin, wink or even a general glance to check for a reaction of some kind, Price would turn heads suspiciously swiftly. As though he didn't want to see Soap, or speak to him. They kept having awkward silences, and Soap often found his Captain _staring_ at him, lost in thought. The younger soldier threw a glance at his Captain, eyeing him. Just as expected, the older man was staring at him, like a mother over her child's crib; his eyes full of solemn and frustration. "We li'erally had the _cold_ conversation about _five minutes ago…_ " He answered bitterly.

"Ah, right, sorry. My uh, my mind's elsewhere at the moment, mate."

That was it? _That was it?_ No scolding for being cocky? No _'cheeky bastard'_ , or _'I'm not old'?_ **Huh**.

Soap blinked, pushing himself up, leaning on one arm as he glanced about the tent. It was clean, cleaner than expected, what with having a group of four men living in such a tight space. "Are you alright, Price?"

In silence, Price merely nodded as he eyed the other's face.

Soap, unconvinced, rolled his eyes again before turning his attention to the bleeping phone beside him.

Price bit his left inner cheek. His eyes drifted from Soap's face, down to his shoulders, allowing his gaze to fall to the man's arm that he leant on. Really, Price was always fascinated by Soap's muscles; e _specially_ his _arms._  
 _'He must've worked_ ** _hard_** _for those…'_ The way they were _shaped..._ He remembered their first meeting, when Soap had removed his shirt before entering the shower. _His abs… his arms… his shoulders…his neck…  
_ Perhaps it was the mountain's merciless solitude, or that he spent so much time with _men._ There was always _something_ about Soap, from their first meeting, to the progress the younger made just to impress and assist his superior, to **_now_** _._  
Price had never met anyone who could sport a mohawk so _well_. In fact, it actually looked _good_ on him. It made him look even _better_ , if he was being honest. Shaking his head, Price rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath, trying to eliminate all the thoughts that shat on his aching brain. He realized he was still staring, but Soap was too focussed on the phone for him to notice, fortunately. "Something wrong?" He inquired, trying to nudge past the silence.

"Nah, it's just buggin' out," he replied sharply, his eyebrows furrowed. _It was like smiling made you colder._

"It's probably the cold," Price stated.

"No shite. It ruins _everythin'._ When are we goin' tae move out? I'm freezin' m' bloody tits off sittin' here…"

Price allowed his lips to curve upwards into a smirk. "What did I say about complaining?"

Soap turned his head, acknowledging the comment, before exhaling heavily. "Right, right, sorry." Price was right, he was letting his irritability get the better of him. "Let's be honest though, there's no' _much_ t' be _positive_ about, is there?"

"Eh, at least try and find something…"

"Like what?"

"I don't bloody know. I've given you a suggestion, now shut it and find something…" Price said.

Anyone else who didn't know Price all that well would've been offended, but not Soap. No, in fact, Soap knew he was playing. Price had a specific tone when being serious, and his current one was nowhere near as uptight. He knew from the gentle ripple in his words. "Relax, old man, wouldn't want you tae wear yourself out," he hummed.

Price paused, grunting a chuckle before falling silent again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Soap gave up on communication and turned his back to the older man, hoping to get some rest. Maybe **sleep** would **numb** this _damned cold!_  
Shifting around a few times, he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, cerulean eyes flittering shut as he tried to relax so that sleep could borrow him. He gave an irritated growl with each shiver his body gave. He _knew_ he was cold; his body didn't need to _remind_ him! Movement could soon be heard beside him, but he was too tired to look for the source, so he just ignored it.  
Slowly, his muscles began to ease, until he felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around his waist, causing him to almost shoot into the air. The only thing keeping him from doing so was said arms holding him close and _tightly_ , so that he was unable to escape. " _Wha'_ in-"

"Calm yourself, lad!" Price's husky voice could be _felt_ beside his ear, and the desire to melt there and then made him nervous.

Soap frowned to himself, before freezing up again.  
W _hat the fuck was he doing?_  
" _P-Price_ _! This is – nae – what are you doin'?" He_ wriggled in attempt to gain freedom. Not that he didn't _like_ the hold his Captain had on him, but the surprise was overwhelming. Wait. He liked it? No, forget it, it's just the cold. Blame it on the cold.

" _Shh_ ," Price hushed, nuzzling his face into Soap's neck. He'd given into whatever need he felt pulling in his chest. Seeing Soap _trembling_ the way he was – it was like watching a puppy suffering. He had to do something, but to the point where he had latched onto one of his men to keep them warm? _Right_. Seemed legitimate. He was certain his loneliness was linked in with that somewhere, not to mention the unbelievable _frustration_ he felt whenever he _looked_ at Soap. Why? That he didn't know. Who understands feelings these days? "I'm keeping us warm you muppet, what did you think I was doing?"

Soap flinched at the hush, going still as he craned his neck in attempt to look at the other's expression. " **Oh** – uh – nothin'. I jus'… wasn't bloody expectin' it." There was a pause as he tried to calm himself, holding back a shudder as Price's bristly beard grazed the nape of his neck. "I know ah'm irresistible an' all but I'm no' use'tae gettin' _grabbed_ for it," he jested, doing his best to lighten the situation.

"I'll fuck off if that's wha' you want, Soap. Leave you to shiver –"

He regretted the joke immediately, finding himself freezing up again. "N-no," he choked. "No, this is – _thanks_ Price. I appreciate it."

Price took his chance, hoping his 'good intentions' would cover any suspicions Soap had. Subconsciously, he inhaled, breathing in Soap's scent and he had to make sure not to do that again because _wow_ that was weird of him. The lad didn't seem to mind though, which eased him somewhat. He could feel the other squirm against him, letting out a heavy exhale causing the older man to feel vaguely successful? Whatever he was hoping to achieve, he _had_. "Don't get _soppy_ mate, I'm just cold," he grumbled into the other's ear before closing his eyes. There was a peaceful smirk on his face as he started to drift into a deep sleep, finally warmer. Because _that_ had been the issue.


	3. Memory Two

"It's good tae have you back, sir," Soap stated.

"It's good to _be_ back, mate," Price replied, though his response didn't sound all that genuine. They'd returned to one of the many impro-bases General Shepherd had, Price seating himself on the couch occupying one of the less busy sectors.

Soap stood at a distance, observing the other. Hours had past since he returned the pistol, and yet it still didn't seem _real_ to him. He hadn't seen Price in over _five_ years. Hell, he thought Price had been dead. Poof, _gone_ , out of his life just like that. It had been tough, surviving without the others. Everyone that he had known had been stolen from him, rug ripped from beneath even the sturdiest of footing and he must've bashed his head on the way down because it was starting to _pound_.

During their short time together, Soap had started to see Price as a father figure. One could say he had _daddy issues_ , but this was no reckless kink like many stigmatised it to be.  
Soap was a bastard, in more ways than one – _Price would say_. MacTavish was the surname of his mother, who had given birth to him before marriage. His father was a _menace_ , to say the least. Scottish alcoholic and a verbally abusive man, perhaps there were deep meanings behind why he _was_ the way he was, but Soap had never pushed to care.  
His mother loved him dearly, he'd grown up as a mother's boy and felt no shame in showing this. She did _everything_ she could for him, but the one thing she couldn't achieve was ridding him of his father. The asshole would _nit-pick_ on every little thing about Soap. He would tell him he was talentless, useless like his mother and that he was _never_ good enough.  
People used to tell him " _he's evil_ , _why does it matter what he thinks_?" But the truth was, no matter how cruel the man was, in a sick and twisted way he was still his dad. At the end of the day, we all want our parent's approval and Soap was _desperate_ to do something that would make his dad proud of him. Believed that there was _some way_ , whatever it may be, that he could get his dad to love him. He simply wasn't good enough, and that's why he didn't. So, he _bettered_ himself. He worked hard, disciplined himself with his school work and art but his dad always shut him down or tore work up before throwing it in Soap's face. That's when he tried something new.

Maybe his dad hated him _because_ he wasn't like him?  
It was around this time, at about the age of fifteen, that he decided to shave his head, mohawk thicker than the Trossachs and he started to misbehave in school. He would distract other students and get sent out, he would be _rude_ and, as the teachers described him, _a bloody devil_. The misbehaviour was more of a cry for help, but of course no one ever listened, and he only ended up feeling _lonelier_.

His mother expressed her disappointment that his personality was becoming like his dad's and in a desperate attempt to better himself, he worked on being _nicer_ to others. He used his mum as a role model, but somehow, he always ended up _more_ like his dad. A constant bleed of irritability was the _first_ sign. Boy with a heart of gold but his father had _pissed_ all over it.  
Were it not for his later-discovered desire to join the military, he could've followed the man _further_ down the steep, steep hill. Since he came of age, he found himself developing crushes on older men. He would hang out in bars, get drunk and start fights with older drunks. Something about trying to expel his hatred towards his father by fighting those _like_ him but it never helped. He always ended up with a black eye and a wounded pride.

Joining the military made his mother unbelievably proud of him and he used _that_ to keep going. Soon, he found that he was _actually_ good at what he did, those around him always praising him. He even earned himself the nickname Soap. And though he never truly got his dad's approval or validation, he found receiving it from his superiors was _enough_ , which is why he idolised Price as much as he did.

Price was the father he never had. It became an _obsession_ , of sorts. Every compliment Price passed his way Soap would _obsess_ over. He'd break it down and overthink it for days, sometimes even _weeks_. To the point where, unknowingly, it developed into infatuation. He was so grateful for Price. Couldn't believe that God had blessed him with exactly what he'd been longing for all these years. He started sketching Price, a lot more than anyone else.  
When Price had 'died', Soap's identity collapsed. His inspiration had gone but the obsession remained. He'd taken time off and had visited Hereford as well as the horse races that Price had talked about. He'd bought Villa Clara's, Price's favourite cigar and started smoking them _religiously_ – the smell making him feel as though Price was there with him.  
He also kept the pistol Price had given him at his hip, cleaning it, dissembling it. It was a _distraction_ , motivation to get back in the fight. Finding Price again in the Gulag had given him strange sensations. Ones he still didn't understand. He was overjoyed to see him again, of course he was, but he was unsettled just as much. Mainly because now, he had to _face_ the feelings. No more avoiding them. And how the hell was he supposed to explain the **obsessions**?

"Not gunna stand and stare all day, are you?" Price inquired, lifting his gaze to the distant Scot.

Soap blinked, having trouble finding his words.

Price only snorted, patting the seat beside him. "Sit your arse down, lad."

Nodding, Soap approached him and sat down, leaning back into the comfort. It was nice to rest, but the younger was not the same Scot Price used to know. He'd grow as a person, _a lot_. It had been five bloody years for Christ's sake, and yet he still found himself stuttering like your typical FNG. ' _You're not a pussy anymore_ , _mate_ ,' he inwardly told himself. "Some bloody 'oliday you took, eh?" He smirked. _Good_. Establish where you stand.

He was hoping for a laugh. Playful banter of some kind or even to be shut down by Price's dry humour but all he got was silence. He could've sworn that the quiet was more frightening than the explosions and gunshots. "Price?" He was concerned, to say the least. This wasn't the Price he remembered.

The older man raised his head, looking from the floor over to Soap. He seemed somewhat vacant, and for a moment, Soap could've sworn he saw _emotion_ there. A sadness that clutched at him tightly, weighing down on his chest and he wanted to reach out. He was being _insensitive_ , forgetting the amount of shit Price had probably faced in the Gulag and – "Shite Price ah'm – I didn't – that was bloody insensitive."

"It's alright," Price shook his head, smiling weakly. The bags under his eyes emphasised just how _traumatic_ the past five years had been for the man. He looked like he hadn't slept for the entirety of it.

"You – you wanna talk?" Soap asked, frowning gently. He felt bad for Price. Not pity, he knew the Captain wouldn't appreciate that, but he just felt bad that he couldn't do anything. He felt bad that Price was suffering, and he wanted to take it all away. Suffer _himself_ , if necessary. "We can go tae my room uf you'd like? I can tell th' boys t' bugger off for a bit? Give you some privacy?"

"Soap –" Price interrupted. "Thanks, but I think I'm alright here. I just – I'm not feelin' much like myself is all. Being back 'ere I'm – I feel kind of … the odd one out, y' know?"

Soap's brows rose. _The odd one out_? Price was always the odd one _in_. Everyone _loved_ him. Well, most, anyway – those that had survived the journeys they shared with him. "That's _okay_! We just need t' get you back in routine, old man!"

" _Old_?" Price returned.

"It's alright, Price, there's no _shame_ in it!"

"Cheeky bastard," Price grumbled.

Soap felt something ignite within him. It was like getting a response from your favourite celebrity, or in Soap's case, hero. "There he is!" He exclaimed. "Thought I'd 'ave tae send out _another_ bloody search an' rescue party."

Price scoffed. "'ang on a minute. I'm looking for a shy Scot, don't suppose you've seen 'im have you?"

Ah, _shy_. Something he's not been for some time. Perhaps, Price's absence sparked something in him. He'd lost _his_ fatherly presence, but he found later in life people like Roach _required_ one, and so he'd slipped into the role – distracted himself with it. If he couldn't have Price, he'd become Price – that kind of thing. "Learnt t' grab life by th' _balls_ ," Soap said, proudly. He prayed for Price to _approve_. "Tha' an' I didn't have _you_ around t' keep me _in check_."

"You've done bloody _well_ , I won't lie," Price admitted. "Thought I'd 'ave people needing me to return but everyone seems to be doing just fine."

Soap's growing grin faltered, brows knitting together. "Wha' are you talkin' about Price?" He gawped. To some degree, he felt _offended_. He'd felt so fucking _dreadful_ after Price disappeared. How **dare** the man assume things had been so _easy_.

The older man seemed surprised by Soap's reaction. "I mean everything's changed since I've been gone. I dunno. I guess – it's like some sort of out of body experience. I've been away, dead to some, and yet the world just went on…"

Troubled, Soap found himself becoming irritable. "Well that's damn selfish thinkin'. There'a some people who _always_ had you in their thoughts!"

Price raised a brow, sceptical. " _Who_?"

Soap almost choked. Why had he said _that_? Of _all_ the things to say! He didn't know _who_. He was certain some people thought of him now and then, but _he_ was the only one who _obsessed_ over it. He was the only one who thought of him every day. Who prayed for him to return, for him to watch over Soap and to give him strength.  
Oh, he'd just dug himself a bloody grave. There was no way he could name random people either, fake or real, in case Price went to ask them himself. Then that'd make Soap look even worse, not that he looked bad right now but to himself he did. Realising he hadn't spoken for at least a minute, Soap clenched his jaw. He couldn't tell Price about it – about any of it. It was too embarrassing. Price would never let him live it down, but if he were to change the subject or up and leave Price would assume Soap agreed, which he most certainly did not. What a predicament. "You really think tha' lowly of yourself?"

"Let's not talk about that," Price warned. Five years in the Gulag did shit to a man, not that he'd ever admit such out loud.

"Why not?" Soap insisted, scowling now. "You expectin' me tae skip off like a doaty grass an' tell e'ryone tha' you actually _do_ have feelings?"

Price's tone was _sharp_ , scolding – " **Soap** ," his name a final warning. _Stop pushing your luck_ , _highland boy_.

Immediately, Soap realized he was at fault, crossing the line and he falls silent, frowning again. "Sorry," he utters, pausing before continuing, voice low. "It's just – It's been _tough_ without you, Price." That's as far as he'd go.

Silence followed, minutes of it but it felt _endless_. Finally, he just had to say something. Let it be known. "You can talk t' me Price. You don't –"

"Soap, I –"

"Let me _finish_ ," The younger pressed, cutting Price off. "You don't _have_ tae, I don't expect it fr'm you an' there's certainly no _obligations_ , but I just want you tae know tha' I will bloody _listen_ uf you've got something on your mind. I know you've been through some _shite_ Price, but you're no' as alone as you _think_ you are." He exhaled after, relieved that he'd at least gotten that into the open. There's a long pause, Price's gaze averting but Soap noticed the way his brows lowered under the shadow of his beloved boonie hat.

"Shepherd's got shit for us to do," Price said, rising from his seat. For a moment, Soap thought he'd been completely ignored and then brushed off, azure hues wide, watching Price's every move, desperate for something else. _Anything_ else. He met Price's gaze and received a weak smile, but it was so rich with meaning that Soap could feel his heart skip a beat, sweat threatening to bead at his neck. Price was so important to him. Then, Price sealed the deal with a pat on the other's shoulder. "You're a good lad, Soap," he offered, and it was enough.

Soap returned the smile, feeling bizarrely fuzzy on the inside as he accepted the hand Price held out to him and was helped to his feet. He laughed, "thought I was supposed tae be th' one helpin' _you_ up, old man."

 _You've helped enough_ , he wanted to say. It was time for Price to return the favour. Instead, he exhaled a breathy chuckle and shook his head. "Soap two point oh, a little _bugger_."


	4. Memory Three - Part 1 of 3

Just a heads up that in this story, Ghost and Roach survived Shepherd.

Longer chapter this time, part one of three.

* * *

Sapphire hues were drained of their usual brightness, curious glint combined with royal blue flecks visible in the light as they glanced around for his white towel. Tired eyes, sleepless nights undeniably the cause but it wasn't something he could help. Sometimes the nights were just rough. "Aha! There you are y' bugger!" Soap piped, yanking it from its place atop the open door, undoubtedly placed there by Price. His Captain _hated_ dirty items being on the floor. The man enjoyed clean surroundings which, in all honesty, wasn't a bad thing. Soap didn't mind it, that was for sure, nor did he think that he _should_. Who said being clean was a bad thing? Ironically coming from the man nicknamed _Soap_.

Feeling the towel in bandaged hands, he turned and exited the room. En route to the shower, he greeted Roach and Ghost who were apparently "just coming to check on him". He knows they said it out of pure courtesy, but still, it's nice to be acknowledged. Since he'd gained his injuries he'd felt useless and forgotten. Price checked on him regularly, which was nice, but he always felt guilty when his Captain did. _Oh look_ , _Soap's doing fuck all again_. Ghost always tried to reassure him that he deserved the rest, but Soap couldn't accept that. He couldn't even work out properly which is what he did when he was bored or looking to mope around. If he didn't exercise, then he ate, and without combining the two it'd become ugly very quickly.  
The guilt became so much that he insisted on staying at their base, training the Russian loyalist FNGs, seeing as Shepherd had stuck the _outcast_ label on their foreheads. _If I can't do bugger all physically at least let me instruct th' new guys_ , he'd insisted.

"How are those pretty hands doin'?" Ghost asked, pointing at the bandaged limbs.

"Fuckin' sore, like always," Soap replied.

"Yeah but they'll heal," Roach reassured. "And then you'll be good as new!"

"Thanks, Roach. _I wasn't aware'a tha'_ ," Soap said dryly.

 ** _Someone_** _woke up on the wrong side of the bed_ , Roach thought.

Come to think of it, Roach and Ghost hung around each other a lot lately. Or was that just him? Were they in some sort of bloody _gang_? The _wanker_ squad, no doubt. Maybe they had some pact since General Shepherd. Bros for life or something stupid. Even to himself, he was noticeably irritable today. _More than usual_. The lack of sleep combined with the boredom, guilt and restlessness? It was justifiable, really.

"Cough i' up then. What's got you so _pissy_?" Ghost jabbed.

"You know _sometimes_ I just wish you'd keep your **bloody** mask on an' never _speak_ …"

"Damn Soap, I'm just lookin' out for you mate. No need to be such a bitch," Ghost growled, Roach retiring to the background, already overly offended.

Around them, Russian loyalists passed by, busy as ever and it was like they were purposely taunting the Captain. _Look at me_ , _I can still do this_ , _I still have full fuckin' function in both hands!_ Truly, he should be grateful there wasn't any serious nerve damage. Still, inactive, he couldn't be satisfied.  
"Sorry. Ah'm just … tired. Ya know how tha' goes."

" _Mm_ ," Ghost gave a hum. "Well, go 'ave your shower. 'opefully it'll make you feel be'er, for _our_ sake."

" _Aye_ …" Waving a bandaged hand, Soap moved further down the corridor. He looked down at both hands, frowning.

It had been about three weeks since the incident. And what a _fucked up_ incident it had been. Soap had strayed from his team, attempting to flank but was caught out – sleeping on the job. Not literally, Soap would never lower himself to such, but he'd been led into an ambush and he'd followed, damn _absent minded_. Stupid is what it was. He's sure to never make that mistake again.  
Soap wasn't typically cocky, but merely _unrealistic_ about just how much he could handle. He didn't boast about it, he just didn't admit when enough was enough.  
Better yourself – the state of mind always dared him to push through challenges. Like Price and how he saw emotion as weakness, Soap saw acknowledging weakness _as_ a weakness. If you didn't acknowledge them, then there _weren't_ any to begin with. If that makes sense? If not, good, because it's a bloody stupid state of mind that he's been scolded for before.  
Following the ambush, Soap was abducted by an enemy team and taken away for interrogation in a nearby abandoned building. Interrogation being merciless torture.

* * *

He'd woken, restrained in a way that he couldn't immediately identify due to the black sack weighing down over his head. He was seated, hands resting upon a surface in front of him. The sound of gunfire in the distance was _muffled_ , meaning he was either close to where he'd been and the building walls were thick, or he was several miles away. The sound could also be carried by surrounding buildings or trees, causing them to sound closer than they _were_.  
The scent of blood was what clogged his nose first. A heavy, festering pungency that hit like a _brick_ , meaning there had to be a fucking lot of it. Maybe it was an interrogation ploy, to get his adrenaline pumping. He could also smell the stale scent of sweat that seemed capable of staining and tainting the walls of a room if there long enough. Breathing could be heard a distance away, possibly from a corner, undeniably through an open mouth, teeth _clenched_ and bared. There was only one man in the room, as far as he could tell, unless others were remaining _silent_. Still, the air would be stuffier and hotter if there were any more people – though that depended on the size of the room.

Soon enough, his questions were answered when the sack was pulled roughly from his head, causing his neck to arch back to keep it from being _wrenched_. While his eyes adjusted to the lighting, which was surprisingly dim, footsteps boomed closer and there was suddenly a face inches from his own. His hands tried to rise as defence but there was a metallic clinking sound and he could barely lift them. They rested upon a wooden table, secured by _handcuffs_. The man before him held no weapons, but a knife was secured at his calf, just as Soap's had been and should _still_ be if – nope. Azure hues glanced down to find himself completely stripped of all but his clothes. Even his boots had been removed. His _favourite_ bloody boots.

A hand gripped at his stubbled chin, craning his head so his eyes met with his captor. Did you ask for an _angry_ , **ugly** Russian? Well you got one anyway. Brown orbs streaked with insanity were blown wide as if he'd just inhaled a fresh line of coke. His breath was, ridiculously, _worse_ than the blood. Either that, or blood was just something Soap was more desensitised to.  
Cigarette smoke was most noticeable, acrid and oppressive to his senses as it was sloshed with the unmistakable scent of vodka. Stereotypical? He doubted the Russian would _care_. Cigarettes were discomforting and to Soap? Distasteful. He hated their scent. They were nothing like the smooth, rich scent of Villa Clara's, they didn't remind him of Price at all. If anything, they made him more aware that Price wasn't _there_.

Spit spattered across his face and he grimaced, wanting to fight back simply because it resembled the motion of a dog snapping its jaws and the instinct to _that_ was to snap its neck, but his hands were unusable.

"Who do you work for!?" The Russian snarled.

Name, rank, number, date of birth. That was the only information he could give away. He remained silent, maintaining eye contact with his captor – eyes _forward_. This had been part of his training, selection for the SAS was more than just running a fucking course. To get in, you had to first be _broken_.

Good cop, bad cop was not the routine this asshole was going for. Time was of the essence, clearly, seeing as he was _full frontal_ aggressive. A slap to Soap's cheek turned his face to the left. Only then did he see the rest of the room. His previous observations had been cut short by Dimitri the _dick_. The walls were smothered with blood, stone floor caked in it as though this was the house of an evil butcher who captured people in his spare time and chopped them up and then proceeded to hang their limbs with rope, perhaps _throwing_ one over his shoulder for good luck every now and then. There was only one body in sight, right over in the far corner, one of a _woman_. His jaw clenches at the sight, emotions already triggered and it's hard to look away. How had she died? By who's hand?

"American," the Russian sneered, noting the direction of Soap's gaze. " _Scum_. I slit belly and make her _watch_."

Soap's teeth gritted together and it was difficult to keep from crying out – from that _one_ comment. He knew it was undoubtedly true and that the innocent woman had suffered and – _your emotions_ , _Soap_. _They're a weakness when you expose 'em_. Price's words echoed within his head. If he got _too_ emotional over that one thing, the Russian would exploit it. Christ, he might even drag the body over for first class viewing. His throat burned at the thought and he inhaled, refreshing his mind for a moment, grounding himself.

A fist slammed down on the table in front of him. "What is your _name_?"

"Soap," the Scot spat back.

" _Soap_ ," the Russian laughed, repeating it again mockingly. "Like _cleansing_ , no? Maybe you clean this, _huh_?" A hand gripped at his chin again, tighter this time, directing Soap's gaze back to the bloodied floor. "Maybe I make you clean with _tongue_. Would you _like_ this?"

His eyes stung as he blocked out the concept, even Soap's hardened stomach threatened to jump. His fists clenched, handcuffs trying to suffocate and strangle his wrists, a faint blue colour already setting in. He was snapped back from his thoughts when a knife was slammed down beside his hand. Inwardly, he cursed, scowling up at the Russian who drooled inhumanly. Watch out, it looks like there's more than just the bloody _dogs_ with rabies.

"You are _Captain_ ," the Russian stated, clutching Soap's dog tags in his grip. Panic soaked his gut. Those were _his_! "Captain has value." The knife was pulled from the table, blunt side dragged, slowly, torturously across MacTavish's hand. The Russian was wrong, however. Speaking as though the Captain could be used to barter _more_ from the enemy than any _Sergeant_. But in the eyes of the SAS, they were all _equal_. No man left behind, _whatever_ their rank. "For Captain, you are pathetic," the other insulted. "You're like scared little bunny rabbit."

Soap had to hold back an eye roll. "An' ah've met dogs with better manners than you. Didn't your mum ever teach you not tae bloody _drool_?"

The Russian hissed angrily, lifting the sharp blade that had been caressing Soap's hand as if a friend. It was no longer a friend. A loud cry of pain burst from Soap's lips as the blade pierced his left hand, going straight through flesh and bone and hitting the table with a thud, possibly even splintering through the other side. " _Fuuuuuuuuuuckkk!_ " Soap roared. " _C'mon y' bastard! Is that all you've got!? Fuckin' pussy!_ "

The knife was removed, and Soap winced, hoping it was finished; but it was _far_ from _over._ Again, the Russian slammed the knife into Soap's left hand, before pulling it out a second time, several more stabs following that. Each one was drawn out slowly, stab, twist, hold, remove, repeat.  
There was no way his cries could be _withheld_ at this point. Agony spiked up his left arm and his hand felt as though it'd just gone through a meat grinder. He didn't dare try and move it, remaining frozen as his arms spasmed, naturally attempting to get _away_ from the weapon, however, the handcuffs kept him restrained. With every spasm his hand had, he could feel the exposed flesh at the palm of his hand sticking to the wooden surface. Tears forced their way from watering eyes, his body's response to the trauma, dripping down structured facial features.

The only sounds that could be heard now were the soft, agonised whimpers that left the Captain, along with his ragged breaths. "Shite… oh _fucking_ shite, _fuck_ , **fuck**!" His left hand was covered in blood. _His_ blood. He couldn't even see the stab marks because of the blood pooling from them. His vision was blurry and had started to whiten, the threat of passing out looming.

"Are you going to _comply_?" The Russian leered, his accent thick and mocking.

Stubborn as a mule, Soap met the other's eye and bared his teeth. Comply with the enemy, show weakness and let them believe they are in control. But Soap wouldn't go down without a fight. Not after _that_. " **Fuck** you, y' nancy _wanker_!"

He ignored the stream of angry, Russian curses that left the enemy. A punch was thrown at his face, causing his head to loll backwards as consciousness threatened to abandon him. Then, that previous, blistering pain returned. The dreaded knife was back, this time planted into his right hand. The process began again, stab after stab, scream after scream… and he felt weak. So weak so suddenly it was frightening but passing out was the least of his concerns. If anything, he _welcomed_ it. His vision darkened and he was certain he'd been sucked into the darkness, if only for a moment, before being yanked back out by the twisting of the blade. A thick mist started to settle in, vertigo seated upon his shoulder even though he wasn't moving.

Was it _over_?

Of course not. His right eye throbbed and Christ, now he'd have a bloody black eye too? For _fuck's_ sake!

"Who do you work for?" The Russian asked again, tone impatient. Soap wouldn't break. He _refused_ to submit, _spitting_ back at the other. That earned him a grip at the throat, however, no punches followed. He waited, peeking through his swelling eye to see the man's hand approaching his face. Two fingers protruded from a fist, dirty, grubby fingers which had been fuck knows where and they were _forced_ down the Scot's throat.  
Within a moment, Soap began spluttering, coughing at the violation of his throat as the fingers retreated and acid _rose up_ , chunky from his previous sandwich and straight out onto his already burning hands. Like lemon juice to a paper cut he went to scream but he only _choked_ , a fit of coughing ceasing spare breath from his lungs as he gasped and wretched. Vomit coated trembling fingers, seeping into his newly acquired wounds and this was it. This was the _worst_ thing he'd experienced, without a doubt. The pain was something he'd never experienced. The feeling of acidic slime dribbling down tender skin and his stomach jerking once more as he noticed the Russian walking away from him, the knife still buried in his hand, throat _raw_.

The next sound he heard had his entire body tensing up, arse shifting to the back of the chair as he tried to rip free from the handcuffs, causing the pain to flare up once more. The gut-wrenching snarl of a chainsaw _ripped_ through the room like dog teeth to a jugular and he finds himself screaming again, though his mind was silent. He'd drifted off into the place of _peace_ , where nothing could touch him, a blanket of white stroking bloodied skin, crimson stains disappearing from the silk-like comfort the moment they appeared.

He would not beg, but the word **no** was howled repeatedly. With a powerful pull, the table shifted, _heavier_ than he'd imagined but he _managed_ , only to stumble backwards and land on his rear, the table falling on top of him so that he was pinned.  
The Russian was closing in when a **bang** grabbed his attention near the far corner. The door _swung_ open and a flash bang was thrown in, landing near Soap's position. Swiftly, fuelled by only adrenaline, the Captain grabbed the explosive and threw it closer to his captor before covering his head. A flash engulfed the room, bright white, or perhaps it was his vision, and men's voices erupted through the door. A gunshot caused him to flinch and he became fully aware of the table now and how his hands were still _attached_ to it, positioned bizarrely, but he was too shocked to notice the pain now, tears streaming down his cheeks subconsciously. Something hit the floor, a body most likely, before someone appeared beside him.

"C-c-ap-p-pri –" Soap _barely_ managed to whisper.

"Soap!" Price bellowed, placing a knee behind the younger's back so his weight was _supported_ and not pulling on the handcuffs. The knife was cautiously removed, unlike the other _nine_ times, or was it ten? Sweat dripped down the Scot's face, right eye swollen and starting to show bruising. Thick vomit coated his camo vest, dripping down angled arms and into his lap. He couldn't tell his own blood from the blood that had been there before him now and he could feel his body trembling _violently_ against his Captain. This was all Soap's fault. He'd brought this on _himself_. "I'm here, Soap. Stay with me lad, I've got you. You're _safe_ now. Bloody hell. Ghost, cut these damn cuffs, _quickly_!"

And that was _all_ he needed. _Safe_ – that one word of reassurance and he could _finally_ slip into the silk, uttering sharply as he drifted off into blissful peace.

* * *

For the next fifteen minutes, Soap found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. Someone had his legs, gripping tightly at his ankles whilst someone else had his shoulders. His arms had been placed on his chest, his dirty vest having been removed. Pain wracked his entire body and the jarring he experienced from his carriers' jogging _didn't_ help. He tried to utter some form of English but it only left in a weak groan before he faded again. The person at his shoulders was talking to him, trying to address him, communicate but he couldn't reciprocate.  
Soap lay limp, body still shaking, undoubtedly from the amount of blood he'd lost. It felt like his body had been tossed into freezing water, pulled out and then plonked into scorching and _repeated_. Nothing was stable, everything was disorientated and his body was on overdrive, attempting to keep up.

He was lifted upwards, hands now grasping at his waist as he was undoubtedly being manoeuvred – probably into something. He suddenly couldn't hear, deafened by whirring but a hand clenched his shoulder and rubbed – reassuring, safe. Something about the presence was soothing, even after the trauma he'd experienced. Then, he was out again.

* * *

"Cut 'im loose!" Price yelled, waving Ghost over. In moments, the cuffs were broken open and removed from marked wrists. Meanwhile, Price cut the Scot's vest open, discarding it to the side because it had been ruined. Roach watched at the door for enemies and once Soap's hands were freed, Price tugged the limp body away from the mess and helped the unconscious lad to his feet – supporting him entirely, one arm across his shoulders.  
Ghost assisted, taking the other side's weight. Price stopped, however, at the sight of something glinting on the floor. Scowling, he warned Ghost to support Soap's full weight for a moment while he squatted and lifted the item up, shoving it into his breast pocket. Then he continued assisting Ghost, leading Soap towards the exit while Roach took point.

"Nikolai, we've been compromised an' Soap's in bloody _bad_ condition, LZ two, I repeat, LZ two," closer than LZ one at their current position and he knew Soap didn't have time to waste.

"On the way, my friend. Will first aid kit be substantial for now? I do not have anything more," Nikolai returned over the radio.

"He's going to need some damn good medical assistance," Price stated. If it were only one wound, his concern would be moderately _less_ but seeing that there were two _gaping_ holes in the younger's hands and had already been exposed to an unbelievable lack of hygiene, he was at _serious_ risk. Thinking a mere bandage would do the trick was careless. If blood loss didn't get him, septicaemia _would_.

They arrived at the LZ just as Nikolai's helicopter came into view. He touched down and Roach clambered in first, taking Soap's ankles from Ghost, helping him in feet first while Ghost took to supporting the spine. Once Soap was fully in, laying on a row of seats, Price climbed in and occupied half of one beside the Scot, leaving Ghost to sit beside Roach. Price then took Soap and sat him up, knowing that laying the way he _was_ after vomiting wasn't the best idea. An arm was wrapped around his shoulder, keeping him close as he squeezed at one to _reassure_ the younger. "We're gunna get you outta here, Soap, you'll be _okay_ mate."

Ghost, hidden behind his mask and sunglasses, watched Price's actions. It was surprising, just how _concerned_ the old man was, not to mention _protective_. He wouldn't allow Ghost or Roach to sit with the Scot, and although he didn't _ask_ , he could tell by the look in Price's eyes that silence between them was the only acceptable thing right now. Frantic, he kept shouting to Nikolai to " _fly faster_ ," to which Nikolai would respond by murmuring in Russian because honestly, everyone to _some_ degree _feared_ Price. They had reason to. The man was a living legend, yet so little was known about him as a person.

"Ghost, grab me the med kit!" Price ordered. It was odd to hear someone speaking after the minutes of quiet, but Ghost did as he was asked, reaching up for the secured kit. It opened with a click and he showed the contents to Price. "Just the _bandages_ for now," Price's free hand reached out for one, which Ghost shoved into his grip. Then, the Captain began bandaging one of Soap's hands, making sure to avoid pulling it _too_ tight but tight enough so that friction wouldn't occur. The thought of having something rubbing against _exposed_ flesh made him cringe, pausing for a moment before powering through. Once the first hand was wrapped, he reached out for another bandage and started on the second. He knew it wouldn't do much, but Soap was currently bleeding all over both himself and the older man and he knew some pressure needed to be applied.

"I have safe place in sight," Nikolai notified, pulling towards where a medical centre had been set up, kind of like a make shift living space for many people, resembling an abandoned school.

"We've got to get 'im in there," Price said, brows furrowed, concern etched into his tired face.

The moment Nikolai's helicopter touched down, Price was on his feet, lifting all of Soap's weight with a grunt as he stumbled from the aircraft. Roach assisted him this time, while Ghost raced on ahead to warn the medics of the new arrival.

"You're gunna be alright lad, just _hang on_ ," the older Captain whispered into Soap's ear, though it was hoarser than intended due to balancing half of the other's weight on his back. Soap was no _feather_ , he wasn't overweight and there was no fat in sight on the man's body, or at least from what _Price_ had seen, but his muscles were _incredible_ and of course that's going to make him several times what he'd weigh _without_ them. Price found himself imaging younger Soap, a little boy with his rough Scottish brogue. He didn't doubt Soap was probably a little _bugger_ as a kid, always assumed he was a heart throb to the ladies too.

When Price emerged from his thoughts, he found himself leading Soap to an operation room. The hands would need stitching no doubt and a thorough cleansing. A pit in his gut swelled with guilt. Soap had just been through some unbearable shit, he wondered if the other had given away any information. He wouldn't _blame_ him if he had, but it was probably not the best idea to think about that right now.

The doctors had stated that they couldn't operate on him while he was the way he was, so Price snatched a pair of scissors from the operating table and snipped down the younger's shirt, pulling the vomit soaked material from Soap's form and tossing it over to Ghost who _shrieked_ , clearly disgusted as he lobbed it into the nearest bin.  
The fantastic canvas that was Soap's upper body caught Price's eye and he had to keep himself from _staring_ in front of the others. He helped them get Soap onto the bed, sapphire gaze scanning broad shoulders and abs that put him in a significant state of awe. He despised the feeling that brewed within him, trying hard to avert his eyes in a different direction as he positioned Soap carefully so the doctors could get to his hands. Once the Scot looked like he wouldn't _roll_ off and onto the floor, Price gave the doctors a nod. " _Save_ him," he muttered, expression _threatening_ before he turned and exited the room. The idea of leaving Soap _alone_ in there with those doctors… He hated it. Price, personally, wasn't a fan of health care. Doctors and their _persistent_ questioning, especially when you really _were_ going through the wars, it drove you up the wall.

Nikolai appeared shortly after, leading Price to a seating area. Price began pacing and the Russian shook his head. "Price, you must _sit_. Rest, if possible. He will be in there for some time."

"You think I can bloody _sleep_ after seein' 'im like _tha_ '?" Price bit back. He was stubborn, something he shared with the Scot. It's probably why they got along so well. Price could relate to the reckless side of the other, could see parts of his younger self in Soap's own personality. And if he could, he wanted to coach him _far away from it_.

Nikolai would've offered to get the other coffee, but with the mood Price was in right now he knew he solely wanted him to just go to sleep. Keep him calm and quiet for at least a few hours, maybe even just one. Price wasn't a talker in this kind of mood, but he could become verbally aggressive with others. Nasty, spitting venom out of pure frustration. He never truly _meant_ the words he said, or so Nikolai told himself so he could sleep at night, but it's like the filter in his head goes on vacation and everything just _flows_ out like poisoned water.

Surprisingly, an hour had passed and Price hadn't _spoken_. He'd drifted into a trance-like state, held captive by his own thoughts. He blinked, lifting his gaze from the floor and onto himself, only now realising that he was covered in Soap's blood. Brows knitted together and his lips tightened. "They got a _shower_ here?"

"Let me go and find out," Nikolai replied, wasting no time in pushing himself up from the seat. He disappeared off down the corridor, leaving Price alone for a few minutes.

Unseen and unheard, the other's head lolled back and he exhaled heavily. "What a bloody _shit_ show." His mind began to drift again, the images he'd seen of Soap's body, the curve that connected neck to shoulder, tracing the outlines of every muscles. His arms were spectacular and his fingers _twitched_ subconsciously at the thought of them. The thought of how they would _feel_ , sweat dropping down working biceps, abs straining…  
Price had stumbled across Soap before during a work-out, which was probably one of the best _and_ worst things to happen. He'd been discreet, conversing with another but his eyes always _drifted_ , just enough so that peripheral vision could observe every lift, every grunt, every _expression_ his face pulled as Soap pushed himself to the _limit_. The way quality back muscles contracted with each push-up, and how beads of sweat danced down an _arched_ back, settling just above the Scot's _perky_ bloody arse and he'd always considered Soap's response to Price _approaching_ him, silently kneeling at his side before grazing his fingers across _sticky_ skin, taunting…

Hands clenched to fists and his breathing became ragged as he pictured himself _beneath_ Soap, the Scot working out above him, looking down with those _ocean_ eyes that could make your heart skip a bit with their sincere softness but just as easily heating into something Price would give _anything_ to see and –

"Price?" Nikolai called from the doorway. He'd apparently called his name _several_ times.

Price's eyes shot wide, catching his breath as he glanced around the room. It felt as though he'd been woken from a dream, but he couldn't remember dozing off. Clearing his throat, he looked to Nikolai, dazed.

"Are you _alright_ , Price?"

" _Fine_ , Nikolai. What is it?"

"There _are_ showers."

Brows rose softly. That was right, he'd asked Nikolai if there were any and he'd gone to look. Blinking, Price rose from the chair and cautiously made his way over to his friend. "Right. I think – just caught me off-guard is all. _Sorry_ about that."

Nikolai gave a weak smile. "It is okay my friend, hopefully shower will make you feel better."

Price only nodded in return, his expression neutral. He looked at the other, expectant gaze. _Where_ _ **are**_ _the showers_?

Lifting a finger, the Russian pointed down the corridor. "That way, then, take the left."

 _Easy_ directions, good. He wasn't in the mood to go _traipsing_ around. He knew, however, that were he talking to Soap, the Scot would say something along the lines of – _try not tae get yourself lost_ , _old man_.

"Thanks," he muttered, parting ways with the Russian as he made his way down the long corridor, passing classrooms on the way which were occupied by injured men. He'd forgotten about others, Soap being his _primary_ concern and his mind jumped back to his previous thoughts, sweat beading at his neck.  
What the bloody hell were they about?  
Well, he knew what they were _about_ , that part was unmistakeable but why was he _having_ them? Soap was – a **friend**! Apparently _not_ , or at least the title wasn't as innocent as it sounded. His expression creased up, the more he thought about it the more he felt his stomach churn and not in a _bad_ way. It would seem even Price himself was prisoner to his emotions and feelings. It was ironic, seeing as he'd been the one who'd locked them _away_.  
 _If you ignore them_ , _you don't learn them and their patterns_ , he remembered Soap had told him once. But Price didn't want to learn about his feelings, if anything, he preferred pretending he didn't possess _any_. But now things were coming to light that Price wasn't aware of. His emotions had been plotting against him behind the cover of prison walls. They'd decided, now was the time – and he was caught in his own internal ambush.

Turning left, he continued until he came to a changing room. _Figures_. He opened the door but the lights were off, causing a chill to spark up his spine. Flicking the light switch, Price entered the room, taking in the surroundings. Benches were attached to the wall, several lockers in the corner of the room and several tens of coat hangers were attached to the wall. He moved into the room more, noting that it was connected to another room – the _showers_. They resembled cubicles, the door of one being pushed open to reveal a small shower. Overall, space was limited but it would do. He was used to much _worse_.

Stripping off, Price placed his clothes over the door. Standing in his boxer briefs, he realized that he'd have to put the clothes back on, unless there was a clean change of clothes? And as if his mind had been _read_ , he heard a door open followed by Nikolai's voice. "Price, I have found fresh clothes for you. Take what you need, there is also towel for you." The Russian paused, moving to place them on the nearby bench before turning to leave, jesting as he did. "The ladies here are _very_ helpful."

Momentarily frozen at the _intrusion_ , Price did find his lips curving at Nikolai's words. Bloody Russian and his _lady friends_. Rolling his eyes, he locked the cubicle door, removed his boxers and then started the shower up. Cold at first, _biting_ heated skin he felt it patter down his sweat glazed back, grunting as the water heated up. A hand was brushed through his hair as he looked up at the water spraying down on him. The nervousness his thoughts brought him was still there, dangerous. He exhaled heavily, head shaking as he rubbed a hand across his skin, wiping away blood and dirt. Maybe he was just _lonely_. It had been some time since he'd _been_ with someone, physically, and it's not like he wasn't aware he possessed some attraction to men. It had even been explored in the past, but it had been so long since he'd felt the _tingling_ alongside it – he'd forgotten what that _meant_.  
An arm stretched out, palm pressing against the tiled wall as the other hand drifted down his own abs, though they were far less chiselled compared to Soap's. He started to think – _what if they were Soap's abs_? Brows scrunched into a scowl and he hissed angrily, throwing the fist at the wall, which he immediately regretted, clutching at the knuckles. " _Bugger_!"  
Sighing, he folded his arm against the wall, leaning forwards to rest is forehead against his forearm. Then, the hand _dared_ to drift downwards again, until it reached it's _intended_ location. Tightly, he clutched himself, breath raspy as he freed himself of _some_ tension. Words didn't leave his mouth, only the odd mutter and groan, but his mind was a cascading waterfall and he hated it. It was a sin, to think about the Scot as he – _dealt_ with matters, but he couldn't stop himself. Couldn't avert his thoughts. "What the _fuck_ …" He grumbled, frowning. It's complicated and that infuriated him. He didn't like _not knowing_ himself. He saw himself as a stranger.

Fingers curled and his teeth clenched, eyes tightening as he gained release. The moment the water stopped and he stepped into the cold air, he realized just how _exhausted_ he was. Last ounces of energy rinsed from him, he changed into the fresher clothes before retreating into the corridor. At least he knew there was no evidence of flush, face of concrete, he walked back to where he'd previously been with Nikolai. The Russian wasn't there however, most likely off with one of his _lady friends_ , but Price entered anyway – seating himself. Tired eyes, hard blue blinked several times but soon he found his head drooping down for rest and after trying to fight it, he eventually lost.

* * *

Thank you for the reviews so far I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it ! Remember, this is part one of three under Memory Three's chapter so just bare this in mind if questions for this part haven't been answered yet.


	5. Memory Three - Part 2 of 3

Enjoy lads.

* * *

"Price!" The same blue eyes, except slightly brighter this time, shot open and he scrambled for the gun at his hip, expecting to be attacked. Further observation revealed it to be no other than Nikolai, peering in with a grin on his face.

Groaning, Price moved his head around, feeling the ache setting into his neck from the way he'd fallen asleep. " _What_?"

"Sorry, I did not want to wake you but you should know that your friend is _out_ of operation."

"Come again?" Price asked, already on his feet and approaching the other.

Nikolai nodded, confirming Price had heard correctly. "He is _unconscious_ , but the doctors have done what they can."

"They bloody _better_ 'ave. Where is 'e?"

"Da, come," Nikolai gestured, starting off up the corridor. The room he was taken into was less occupied than the other rooms he'd seen. Soap was on a makeshift hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of _unfriendly_ looking things. His hands were wrapped in bandage and plaster coated all but the fingers to ensure hand movements didn't interrupt with the healing. There were numerous plasters on the right side of his face and he was connected to a line that looked like morphine. Price didn't doubt that when the Scot wakes, he'd be in a world of pain – or bliss, depending on how much they were giving him. "I located shirt for him, so he does not get cold," Nikolai said. It wasn't much, merely a white t-shirt that clung too tightly to Soap's upper body for his own good. "Here is the doctor now," Nikolai pointed out, breaking Price from his thoughts.

A man approached them, gloves on and a clipboard under his arm. "You are _friend_ of Captain MacTavish, yes?" He inquired, looking to Price.

The Captain blinked. He didn't _care_ for introductions, he wanted to know how his soldier was doing. "What did you deal with?"

"We are looking at split skin, you see from plasters, he took _nasty_ blow to his eye which will be swollen for time. This is only _black eye_ though, maybe two weeks and it _fades_."

"What about his _hands_?" Price pressed.

"Ah yes. Many knife wounds, very painful."

"I know it was bloody _painful_ for 'im, I wanna know how the _surgery_ went! Are all the doctors 'ere _muppets_ , Nikolai?"

The Russian doctor paused, regaining his train of thought – albeit broken. "Surgery, of course! Is good. Wounds have been stitched, but will need time for healing. A _lot_ of healing. No playing with guns but _much_ rest."

 _Playing with guns_. Right. At least this meant Soap was going to be okay. "How much rest are we talking? I 'aven't got a problem with it, but 'e's a _stubborn_ bastard."

"Hm. No cast after two weeks. Clean the wound and – _how_ you say – put more bandage, yes?"

It's painful. Especially for someone with as _little_ patience as Price. "Alright, an' 'ow long will he 'ave to wear the bandage? You know, how long before 'e's up an' running again?"

"Bandages for three more weeks. Then, let _breathe_ to complete the healing. Together, maybe two plus months."

 _Two plus months_! There was so much to do, and Soap would be bloody _gutted_. There was _no way_ he could keep the lad out of action for that long. "Bugger. An' there's no way we can… speed up the process?"

The doctor shook his head. "That would be _bad_ idea."

Sighing, Price pulled the boonie hat from his head and scrunched it in his grip. Damn.

"I will come back when he wakes. We must check for nerve damage."

Price watched the doctor turn and exit the room, unaware that he was _glaring_. It wasn't the doctors fault, but he was angry and he had to expel it _somehow_. Punching things in public view was something he'd worked hard to cease, but it was _difficult_.  
For the time being, he seated himself beside Soap's bed.

"Will you be resting?" Nikolai asked.

"If you're serious, you obviously don't know me _at all_ , Nikolai," Price mused.

The other huffed. "I did not think so."

Price remained quiet as he watched Nikolai exit. The quiet stayed after, too. Hours passed as he sat and watched Soap rest, the Scot's expression relaxed and peaceful and that's _all_ he needed to know. That he wasn't _suffering_. Nikolai would bring a cup of bitter coffee for him every now and again, and Ghost and Roach visited to check on him, but mostly it was _just_ Price. He faded in and out of sleep, but more often than not he was wide awake, albeit _forcefully_. Nikolai continued to insist that he rest but Price dreaded Soap waking up alone in some random, sterile scented hospital in pain. Christ, when had he become so _concerned_ about him! It was _weird_. But he couldn't help it. It was just a natural feeling that bleed from within him, no matter how uncomfortable or unwanted.

He was certain an entire day had passed, a full 24 hours, perhaps more. The anticipation had continued to grow, to the point where Price was sat on the very _edge_ of his chair, shaking – though that could've been from the coffee. Bitter _sludge_ , just the way he knew it. An acquired taste, and even he didn't _like_ it much, but it was what a military man knew. It was the only thing _homely_ about this place.

A few more hours had passed and the only times Price would get up was to reluctantly relieve his bladder, but he'd always _race_ back to his seat. He'd ordered Ghost and Roach to call for a ride back to base, although base wasn't the same as it once was. It was full of Russian loyalists and _constantly_ makeshift. At least that was something _off_ his mind. Exhaustion looming again, Price found his eyes closing, head tilting forwards when something stirred beside him. Groaning, sounds of discomfort and the mumbo jumbo of unmistakable Scottish brogue. Price practically flew from his seat, turning to the other and sure enough, Soap's peaceful expression and become _disgruntled_ , his eyes clenched shut as he tried to look around.

"Wh- ah shite," Soap complained. "Toes 'n' fingers but _nae_ they've taken my bloody _eyeballs_!"

Price stared for a moment, for once in his life _speechless_.

"Where th' bloody hell _am_ I? Ah'm so sick an' tired of bein' – of bein' _ignored_!"

The irony was that he'd just woken from a near twenty-nine-hour sleep. "You're alright, Soap. _I'm_ here," Price reassured.

Soap seemed to jump at the voice, eyes still clamped shut as he looked in the older man's direction. "Price!? Am I _dead_?"

Brows furrowed. "What? No. No, Soap. You're _alright_. You're alive."

The other snorted. "Would've though' you'd 'ave kicked my arse _by now_."

"Why would I do that?"

Soap bit his lower lip, brows creasing in thought as he used his head to gesture for Price to come closer. " _C'mere_. I can't say it too loudly, mate!" Considering his voice was already _significantly_ raised. It did soften, however, when Price leaned closer. Licking his lips, Soap seemed to be working up something _big_ when he whispered "'cause I fucked up."

Price was, at first, shocked, _to a degree_ by the other's words. _What_ had he fucked up? Did he mean the mission? "No, you _didn't_ you muppet."

"Aye, I did. Listen, Price, ah've been thinkin' _long_ an' hard about it. I _fucked up_. **All** of i'."

Price shook his head, even though Soap couldn't see it. He realized that this was the _morphine_ talking, but it was clearly something on the lad's mind. Had he been overthinking it in his sleep? "Stayed bloody _brave_ , that's what you did," Price informed.

It was Soap's turn to be surprised, his eyebrows raising up now as though he'd just been given some unexpected news. " _Brave_!? Like the wee _lady_?" He paused, smirking. Somehow, Soap had transformed that into ' _you behaved like a sixteen-year-old girl'_. "A' you tryin' tae crack a _funny_ , Price?"

Should he give up? "Soap, _open_ your eyes."

"Ah'm bloody tryin' mate! They're not there! Bet the scabby wankers 'ave taken 'um!"

He _would_ persist with the eyes, but maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. One of the eyes was blackened by bruising and swollen and Price really didn't want to draw Soap to any of the _pain_ right now. "How're you feeling?"

As though considering, Soap hushed before shrugging. "Can I be _honest_ with you?"

" _Please_ ," Price insisted.

"Am I in someone else's body?"

Well, he certainly wasn't expecting _that_. He can't help the smirk that tugs at his lips. He had to wait a moment, pull himself together before continuing the conversation. "Why'd you ask, mate?"

Soap barked a laugh. "You're a _cheeky_ bastard you are! Wha' dae you **mean** _why'd_ I ask? _You_ asked how I'm feelin' an' I'm tellin' you I feel like ah'm in someone else's body! Not a fan of bloody _mind games_ , old man…"

Mind games. Right. "Well you're in _your_ body, that's f' sure."

The Scot grinned, leaning closer to Price ever so slightly, his words quiet again. "How d'you know it's _my_ body? My body could be like _lots_ of bodies!"

Oh, it was Soap's body alright, he wouldn't admit it out-loud but Soap was wrong. There was only one Soap and –  
What was he _saying_?

"That's a tough one, that," Price retorted. Just go with the flow. He didn't realise he'd want Soap to go back to sleep quite so soon.

"Ahh – hah, _gotcha_!"

Price wasn't really sure what he'd been _got_ on, but he passed it off as more _shite_. He noticed the doctor enter the room and after seeing Soap was lucid, somewhat, he approached them. "Ah, Captain MacTavish, how are we feeling?"

Soap was shocked by another presence, sitting back in bed, overdramatically surprised. "Bloody hell did _you_ come out of _nowhere_! Listen mate, since you're here now, I don't suppose you could tell me where they've put my eyes?"

The doctor's expression was entirely bewildered. He glanced over to Price, who could see the broken English wasn't _computing_. "He seems to think 'is eyes 'ave been _stolen_ ," Price notified, followed by acting out eyes opening, and the nodding over to Soap, who's eyes were still scrunched up. That seemed to make more sense.

"That is okay, my friend! We will _find_ them, please do not worry," the doctor assured. He obviously thought the same as Price, the eyes were better left _untouched_ for now.

"That's easy f'r _you_ tae say. _You've_ still got _yours_ ," Soap scoffed.

Truthfully, Price was looking forward to telling Soap all _about_ this when he was fully lucid.

"Captain MacTavish, I must ask _favour_ of you," the doctor said.

" _Another_ favour? Isn't sittin' in here favour _enough_?" Apparently, he wasn't aware that he was sitting where he was for _himself_.

"Just something small, Captain."

" _Go on then_ ," the Scot grunted.

"Thank you! Alright, I need you to _wiggle_ fingers, only gently, _if_ you can. Up and down, left and right."

Soap waited for a moment, keeping his face directed at them as he attempted to do as he'd been asked. His expression edged on pain when he complied, thumb wiggling, followed by the index, middle, ring and little. Then, he wiggled them all together, gritting his teeth.

That was enough for the doctor. "Well done, that is all, I will leave now and come back later, yes?"

"Wha'ever mate, just bring me back some bloody water. I think ah'm havin' a _drought_!"

Price shifted over to the doctor, who'd taken several steps away from them. "That was for the nerve damage, right?"

"Yes. He is _lucky_ man, Captain Price. There does not seem to be noticeable nerve damage, but I will conduct another test when he wakes properly."

Satisfied, Price sent the man on his way, returning to his friend.

" _Sorry_ , Price," Soap muttered, out of the blue.

"For what?"

" _Dunno_. Just feel bad about somethin'."

Price scratched at his head, noticing that his hat was still clutched in his hand. Placing it back on, he sat back in his chair and sighed. "You've go' nothin' t' feel sorry _about_ lad."

Soap merely huffed, trying to lift his hands to wiggle them again, hissing sharply – which caught the older man's attention.

"You don't wanna be doin' that, mate. Leave 'em alone, eh? Why don't you try an' _relax_? _Close_ _your_ -" he paused, clearing his throat. "Lean back an' see if you can fall asleep."

"You gonna sing me a _song_?" Soap hummed, sounding hopeful.

"In your bloody _dreams_ , mate!" Price snorted.

There was another pause, seconds felt like minutes before Soap hummed again. "Go tae sleep?"

"Yeah."

Another pause. "You gonna _watch me_ , like you always do?"

Price's brows _flew_ up. " _What_ did you say?"

"You heard me. You always sit 'n' _stare_ a' me when ah'm not lookin'. Or at least _you_ _think_ ah'm not."

That _wasn't true_! Well, maybe it was, but he never did it _intentionally_! Did he? He tended to just fade off into _somewhere_ , fixed on something, and a lot of the time it _happened_ to be Soap. _Purely_ coincidental…  
"You're all bloody _doped up_ , Soap, you're talking _bollocks_ ," Price declared.

"Wha'ever, old man. I know ah'm right an' so d' you," and with that, Soap turned his head away from Price, most likely to either _fake_ sleep or actually try to catch some.

The sole emotion he could single out was panic, but he didn't understand why. Soap without the morphine would never be so bold as to _accuse_ him of such. But still, Price was now having to face it and that's what he wanted to _avoid_. Sighing, his eyes stared off in the distance, _away_ from Soap – purely out of spite. Childish, but at heart he was.

A few more hours passed, Price having fallen asleep with his neck craned to the side of the chair. He was woken by strange _choking_ noises, but a piercing cry made him jolt upright, eyes flittering. Soap was awake again, but apparently more with the _real_ world this time as he sounded vaguely aggressive. " _Where_ am I!?" The Scot shouted, noticeably still having difficulty seeing out of one eye. "Are you _listenin_ ' tae me y' _wanks_? Where's my _shite_?"

Price stood, approaching the younger carefully, so to not startle him. "Soap, _calm_ down!"

One azure hue flicked over to Price, he was out of breath. The older assumed he'd been dreaming, and by the cry he guessed it was about recent events. "Price? I – _how_ did I –"

"You've been through some _shit_ , Soap. A fair amount. You need to calm down an' I'll explain what's goin' on."

Soap nodded, brows furrowing at his hands. He attempted to turn, so that his legs could hang over the edge but nudged one of his hands in the process and he winced, clutching the limb to his chest. "Fuckin' – _forgot_ about that! _Shite_!"

The older Captain's arms stuck out as though about to catch a falling child. "No, Soap you have to sit _still_!"

" _Now_ you tell me."

"Do you remember… what happened? _Any_ of i'?"

"Aye," he groaned. "Bloody Russian jobby fucked me _right_ up didn't 'eh." There was a pause as he seemed to gather his thoughts, a frown brushing over his features. "I don't know uf ah've told you already, but I'm sorry Price."

Again, huh? Price shook his head. "Nothin' t' be sorry about, lad."

"They caught me _sleepin'_. Ah'm sorry, I'm _better_ than tha', Sir."

"Oi, I said you're _clear_ , alright? Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're still breathing. You're like a bloody _cat_ , flashin' those nine lives around, eh?"

"I'm _tellin_ ' you, Price, ah'm _better_ than tha'. Fuckin' _gutted_ , if I'm bein' honest."

Price leaned in closer, so only Soap would hear his voice. "Listen, lad, I don't know what kind'uv _guilt complex_ shit you're dealin' with but you're not hearin' me. I'm _proud_ of you, alright? You pulled yourself through some real _shit_ back there. Stop makin' such a bloody _feast_ of yourself."

He could see the way Soap's jaw clenched in response to Price's words, most likely to keep anymore _negativity_ from slipping out. Knowing Price, he guessed next he'd get a slap upside the head and he wasn't _good_ for that right now. Quietly, the Scot nodded, uncertain of what to do or say after the scolding.

"Morphine looks like it's worn off. How're you feeling?" Price filled the silence, quite frankly tired of it.

" _Like_ the morphine's worn off," Soap confirmed.

Price chuckled softly. "Little _bugger_ ," he squinted, causing Soap's lips to curve – barely. "We're working on gettin' you back home, lad."

" _Home_ , Price?"

"Yeah. If you're feeling _that_ guilty then consider this your punishment. But you've got to take some time to _heal_. Those hands aren't good for anything right now other than rest."

" _More_ time off?" Soap complained. He'd recently been off due to the stab wound, thanks to Shepherd. Just back in the fight and he's knocked out, _again_. "How _much_ more time off?"

"Doctor said two months, maybe more."

The look on Soap's face was both heart-breaking and priceless. "Two bloody – Price, I'll never _make_ it. I'll _die_ of boredom! There'll be nothin' tae do! That knife wound was a pain in my arse an' now–"

"Brought this on _yourself_ , mate. If you don't want to keep 'avin' time off then maybe you'll take my advice on bein' less _reckless_. The hero doesn't _always_ come home with stars. Sometimes 'e doesn't even come home _again_. Which one would you rather be?"

 _Starless_ , with future opportunities? Or dead.

"I don't have anyone tae come home _to_ , Price," Soap said. His tone was calm, no sign of obvious sorrow but the words still pleaded for Price to frown.

It wasn't pity that flared inside him, but _frustration_. A pinch of loneliness, longing surging, growing and he had to clear his throat to distract himself. "You might not have someone t' come home _to_ , but you've got a team who at _least_ want you to _come home_."

"Tha' was really _selfish_ of me tae say. Sorry, these places always make me feel shitty 'n' sorry f'r myself. At least – at least let me stay at _base_? I could – could train the FNGs! There's nothin' wrong with my _voice_!" The FNGs weren't the same anymore, either. Merely new Russian loyalists looking to assist but didn't have much knowledge of fighting. Still, it would be something for Soap to do.

That idea wasn't half bad. "You're tellin' me that _bollocks_ you talk is _supposed_ to sound like that?" Price jested, earning him a snort and playful glare.

"As a man wrapped in bandages I can safely say tha' was _cruel_."

"You want a doctor's note, mate?"

Soap rolled his _functioning_ eye. "The bloody _sass_ in _this_ one!" They chuckled together, shaking their heads as Soap's mind continued to drift, gaze falling to his shirt. "This isn't mine," he stated.

Price almost barked a laugh at that. Such an innocent acknowledgement. "It's not," Price confirmed. "But they 'ad to rid you of your other things because they weren't… _sanitary_."

"I don't suppose you found my boots?" Soap inquired.

"Nah mate, didn't even realise they were missing."

"Bastard took 'um from me. Favourite fuckin' boots as well," he sighed.

Something about having Soap around, fully lucid – he might note, was just … _nice_. He'd lost a _lot_ of people. Soap had managed to squeeze his way in even after Price closed himself off. The awareness of what he'd done earlier rose to mind like a _haunting_ and his brows twitched. He felt, somewhat, _ashamed_ of himself.

"You alright, Price?" Soap had noticed the faint contortion of Price's expression.

He blinked himself back, finding Soap staring at him. _The irony_. "Yeah, sorry just – was thinkin' about something that's all."

The mood remained peaceful, all discomfort gone. They were just grateful for each other's company, talking didn't have to take place to _enforce_ that. On another note, however, Soap seemed to be distracted by his own thoughts before glancing at Price, giving him a weak smile. " _Thanks_ , Price."

"For what?"

"F'r _savin_ ' me. Again. I don't see any bloody _wings_ an' yet you always seem tae be the one pluckin' me out of shite creek."

Price would say he'd lost count of how many times he'd saved Soap's life, but then he'd have to discuss that he'd lost count of how many times Soap had saved _his_. It was a mutual respect. Soap was part of his team – he would do the same for the _others_. Right? "You're alright, lad."

Suddenly, Soap seemed to have an _epiphany_ of some kind, eyes widening, one less so than the other, as a hand reached up at his throat and patted. Wincing again, he'd forgotten about the hands and snarled, cussing words Price found _impossible_ to decipher.

"What are you looking for?" Price asked.

"My tags!" Soap stated, distress wracking his tone. "The skimpy _bastard_ took 'em off me back at–"

Before he could finish his sentence, Price had reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the tags he'd taken from the dead Russian's hand before evacuating Soap. The Scot halted, mid-sentence, blue hues gazing at the dangling metal, in what looked like awe. " _How_ did you–"

"I mean _he_ obviously wouldn't be needing 'em any time soon," Price smirked, picturing the Russian's limp form, hole blasted through his skull as blood pulsed out onto stone. That was one bullet definitely _not_ wasted.

"Price I – don't know wha' tae _say_!"

"Now there's a first," Price remarked.

"Could you just… slip 'um over my head?"

The older Captain raised a brow before doing as he'd been asked. They clattered onto the Scot's chest, _at home_. Price did his best to hold back a relieved smile, Soap didn't need to see that. He'd probably hold it against him.

"That's bloody _thoughtful_ tha' is," Soap grinned. "Didn't know you were such a _sop_ , old man."

"Don't make me regre' it."

" _Never_ ," Soap teased.

"Give it another day. Then, we'll head off t' base, I'm sure Ghost's got _plenty_ of questions."

"I was wonderin' why it was so bloody _quiet_!" Soap was surprised. He wouldn't say it out-loud, but he'd _forgotten_ about everything else. In the time that he'd been speaking to Price, it had _just been_ Price. Roach and Ghost hadn't even _occurred_ to him! Did that make him a bad Captain? A _selfish_ one? He'd make up for it. Still, Price had been … _enough_. And not in an overwhelming way, but something about it was _nice_. Knowing that he had Price's _full_ attention. He always longed for that. Coming to the realization that Price had stayed by his side, even _after_ saving him. He wondered what had been going through the old man's mind. What currently _was_! But he knew better than to _ask_. The promise was there though, another day and he'd be off. Where? He didn't know, as long as it wasn't another bloody _infirmary._


	6. Memory Three - Part 3 of 3

The operation managed to fix Soap's hands, but they required over two months to heal properly. Two weeks before he could begin using them for gentle tasks, but there would still be a great deal of pain involved until at least the fourth week.

It had passed two weeks and the bandages and plaster casts had been removed, revealing the mess that was his palms. Healing had clearly begun, no sign of infection but they still _stung like a bitch_. Carefully, the Scot brushed an antibacterial pad across the skin, making sure to avoid the scar itself because the idea of poking that made him extremely uncomfortable. He'd witnessed _a lot_ , but things like this affected him nonetheless. Squeamish wasn't the word, but perhaps _delicate_ – to a point. Injuries on himself brought him more discomfort than they did on others. The sight wasn't the problem, but the tenderness of it.

The doctor had demanded bandages remain for the following three weeks, a change taking place every other day. At first, Soap found himself completely _incapacitated_. He was struggling to do most things. Working out his upper body was impossible and he didn't really want to just push with leg work because then his body proportions wouldn't be equal, but not exercising at all was worse than the wounds themselves. Even _jogging_ hurt, due to the momentum.  
Larger things, such as routine and picking items up was _virtually_ impossible for the time being, but he also struggled with minor things – such as lifting a bloody spoon to eat his breakfast. Then there were specific needs he had to take care of, which he _couldn't_ – manly needs. Of course, doing things such as masturbating was more fuss than necessary when your hands were fucked. He was halfway through the third week, but it was edging on an entire _three_ since the last time he'd… gotten in contact with himself. Usually, he settled on _grinding_ against a pillow for even the slightest relief but he never _quite_ got there.

His hands were the cause for his recent anger. So easily infuriated by everything, especially when he wanted something doing and he _couldn't_ do it. Admitting defeat was unbearable for the Scot, and even more degrading when having to in front of others, so when he'd ask someone else to assist him and they'd question him, he'd snap.

The memories that gradually came back regarding the recent past _added_ to the frustration. Price was right – he really _did_ have a guilt complex. The whole ordeal had been his fault and because of that he'd been caught out. He wasn't fast enough, hadn't move quickly enough, hadn't followed Price's advice. He'd failed and disappointed the Captain and his team.

After his run in with Ghost and Roach, all he wanted now was a shower, where he could relax and not worry about _a thing_. Truth be told, that was a complete and utter lie. The shower was his worrying _place_. But he just needed the alone time right now. Being around others just amplified the feelings of uselessness.

His hopes seemed to drop, however, by the sound of a shower running. Rolling his eyes, Soap groaned in complaint. The showers were practically _always_ empty at this time. It _would be_ this one time…

Placing a stiff set of fingers on the handle, he pulled it down and entered the room, making sure not to stretch his palm out. As he searched for the shower user, his sight was compromised by a thick, steamy mist that clouded the room. "Could get _lost_ in this bloody fog," he remarked, cautiously stepping towards a nearby bench. He wasn't necessarily _addressing_ the person in the room with him, it was more of a statement, but he listened anyway, hoping to be able to at least find out who it was.

"Seems a bit _overdramatic_ if you ask me," the company replied, quintessential British accent unfairly husky – yet Soap feels relieved by it.

"Should've guessed it was you," the Scot smirked. "Figures it's the old man who doesn't like th' _cold_."

"And you _do_?" Price challenged.

Soap rubbed his chin. The cold climates had dogs, and the hot climates had hyena. "Ah'm a man of _moderate_ temperatures," he declared.

"Right."

"Mind uf I _join_ you?"

"Think there's only room for one, mate," Price retorted and Soap's brows rose up, a blush threatening to stain his cheeks. The room wasn't huge, but each shower was divided by a cubicle, though unlike the one's at the infirmary, these didn't have doors. Thin, blurred walls of glass made the company beside you distorted for privacy but you were still open to the rest of the room.

Caught off-guard, Soap stuttered. "I – I meant – that's _not_ –"

Chuckling, Price put the poor lad out of his misery. "Christ Soap, I'm just _pulling_ your bloody leg. It's _fine_ , doesn't bother me."

He was already sweating, hopefully just because of the steam, though Price's jest had snatched him into some unnecessary panic. Nodding, the younger sat himself on the bench, placing the two bandages in his hold down first. He'd put them on after the shower, hoping water would help with the pain somewhat. Next, he tugged his t-shirt over his head, wincing every so often because his hands could only strain so much. His sweatpants were then removed and placed onto the bench, leaving him in the mist with his boxers but Price had been right. At least it wasn't cold. Sighing, he shimmied out of his boxers and replaced them with a towel. Azure hues scanned beside him, noticing the boonie hat, a breathy chuckle leaving him.

Price closed his eyes, lips curving vaguely into what _could_ be considered a smile as he felt the shower's warm water rain down over him. He massaged the body wash into his aching chest and arms, mind in a trance-like state. Unlike many, Price was undeniably a man of solitude. He didn't particularly enjoy company, though there was definitely a deeper reason behind that. A stifled grunt caught his attention, hazy sapphire flicking to the corner of the room.  
Turning, he raised a brow at what he saw. Soap was leaning against the wall of one of the opposite side's cubicles, attempting to flick open the lid of some body wash that just _wasn't_ having it. The older man had to bite his lip to keep himself from barking with laughter, but the difficulty ceased when he caught sight of Soap's arms. Perfectly straining biceps, toned and sculpted, soft looking skin revealing every curve. Unintentionally, he found his gaze tracing the other's back, downwards but something striking the floor had him throwing his gaze back to the shower wall.  
 _He'd been staring_. Soap was _right_.  
Exhaling, Price told himself it was just the heat that was making him delirious but he knew from _previous_ feelings that he was lying to himself. Quietly, he grumbled, rubbing his eyes to drive away the desperate, shell shocked expression he felt setting in.

Just when he'd started to distract himself, he could hear Soap spitting angrily. "This is absolute _bollocks_ it's like they've super-glued the damn thing!"

Unbearable. He'd gone to the showers to _avoid_ these exact feelings and yet here they were, drooling over his shoulders like a starving mutt. "Soap," Price called out, immediately _regretting_ it – judging by his expression.

The Scot stood silent for a moment, then looked to his Captain, who was turned away and at first Soap wondered if he'd _imagined_ it, feeling nervous now that he was staring directly at a naked Price. Should he _inquire_? But then Price would turn and see Soap staring and… no, there was no good way to approach this. Why are you putting so much thought into this? He thinks to himself. A hand rose to the back of his neck, scratching as his gaze averted to the floor. Flushed, he spoke out. "You _say_ somethin', Price?"

That was his queue. Turning, Price looked to Soap, holding his own body wash up. "Do you want some 'elp?" Doing his best to keep from gulping, Price felt something ignite inside him at the sight of Soap's abs, probably remembering what happened the _last time_ he saw them. Water sprinkled down onto the other's shaped mohawk, rebel pieces falling to the side as the water continued its journey down attractive cheek bones, over his stubbled chin and onto his broad chest, bouncing off and Price questioned whether this was real.

Surprised by the question, Soap shifted. The hell was he supposed to say to that? Price had saved his life countless times, put up with all his guilt talk and now he needed his help merely to fucking shower? He felt so petty. Petty and hopeless.  
Was Price being sarcastic? Was it one of his wise cracks? Implying Soap was useless? The image of Price assisting him with such a task then presented itself and Soap's eyes subconsciously widened. The mere thought of Price's hands on him had his knees threatening to _buckle_ and _what the hell kind of game_ was his mind playing? Was he really that fucking desperate? Oh, how embarrassing.  
Soap realized he'd been quiet for some time and the two men were just staring at each other from across the room. Why was this _happening_?  
"Ah! _Nah_ mate, that's uh – that's alright. I appreciate the offer but uh– ah'll get there!"  
Soap turned around, glaring at the wall. Had that _really_ just happened?

Price watched Soap go back to attempting to wash and something about being rejected _didn't_ satisfy him. He was overwhelmingly frustrated with the build-up. Anticipation was in the air, thicker than the mist and it was becoming _painful_. He would have to face the music eventually, whether he wanted to or not. And part of him _did_! After all, what if Soap liked him back? Well, that would mean he'd have to admit he liked Soap in the _first_ place… But then there was the problem of Soap _not_ feeling that way. They wouldn't be able to have their banter anymore. Things would become _awkward_. Maybe… maybe he just needed to _prove_ it to himself. Just satisfy some of his desires, maybe that would settle him down?

Biting his lower lip, Price turned just in time to see the bottle of body wash clatter to the floor and he realized _that's_ what he'd heard earlier. _It was now or never_.

The wash was easy enough to pick up, but the moment Soap went to open the lid, it slipped from his hands. _The second time_. " _F'r fuck's sake!_ " He growled. " _This is bullshit! I just wanna fuckin' wash!_ "

He lowered into a squat, reaching to pick the wash up when he became aware of a looming presence beside him. Frantically, he jumped back against the wall, bumping his head, giving a loud groan when he noticed it was just Price and not some _loon_ – not that there was much _difference_.

Price, instead of laughing however, offered a friendly smile before picking the wash up.

"What's _wrong_ with you!?" Soap snapped. "Don't _sneak up on me_ like tha'! I could'a _socked_ y'!"

The older snorted. "Well I do need a good _socking_."

Subconsciously, Soap's hands had moved to cover his privates. Self-doubt crawled across his skin, anxious of being so _exposed_ to Price who was _unfairly_ handsome. The man would probably poke fun in some way, not that Soap saw him as the type of person but it was just something he'd experienced at a young age and it had stuck with him. "I'm _serious_ Price!" _Now that was new_.

"You honestly think my intention was to come over 'ere and make you _jump_?"

Soap's expression softened, barely.

"I came _over_ to help _Soap_ , but seem to 'ave found a little girl instead!"

" _Alright_ ," Soap said sternly, but the smirk on his lips revealed it was playful. " _You_ shut your trap, y' _wanker_."

Grinning, Price clicked the lid of the wash and rose a brow at the Scot.

"Price I – I _said_ it's–"

"I'm not gunna stand over there listening t' you bloody struggling, _alright_?"

Defeated, Soap exhaled. Price would be too stubborn to give up, he guessed that much. Nodding, he gave a shrug. "Fine…"

"Good. Now turn around."

Obeying, Soap waddled 180 degrees, back turned to Price who, now unseen, was _taking in_ the sight before him. Soap, on the other hand, was wracked with nerves. He figured Price would judge him, the moment his hands made contact he'd think the younger was either too _fat_ or that his arse was flat. The moment Price's hands graced his shoulders he tensed, brows furrowing as he froze in place. The man's hands weren't cold, but the perfect temperature and his thumbs started moving in circles, exploring the Scot's back and just as he started to relax into the touch, Price's hands drifted a few inches down and Soap jerked, his breathing becoming rapid and he was panicking, straight up _panicking_.

Concerned, Price ceased, hands unmoving against the lad's delicious skin and – _really_? _Delicious_? – sighed. "You know the _point_ of this is to _relax_ , MacTavish?"

" _Aye_ – s-sorry, just… ah'm not… used tae – _sorry_."

He wouldn't get _anywhere_ with Soap being the way he was, not that he knew _where_ he was aiming to _go_. Once more, Price pressed on, taking it slower this time. His hands danced over the lad's hips and onto his abs, effectively bringing him close to hugging the Scot from behind, not that he minded. This, for Price, was literal bliss. He was comfortable, and all the chaos demanding attention inside his head was ignored.

Soap had started to slip into a vacant place, peaceful, azure eyes clearly dazed. He found himself melting against Price's hands, held breath slipping past parted lips every so often when Price ran over a tender area. He'd forgotten about _his_ hands for now, letting them go loose to rest at his sides, exposing himself though only because Price was _behind_ and not in front. Huh – _that_ was a _weird_ thing to say.  
Soon, his tension had practically disappeared and Soap's distant mind created images and he watched as they passed by because he'd drifted off. His body responded for him, betraying him.  
Part of him wanted the touch to drift lower, to tempt and tease. He wanted to feel those hands _grab_ at his hips, squeezing, _guiding_ him to the wall. He wanted to be spun 'round, blue meeting blue and he wanted to feel that _fire_ and _God_ it would be the ultimate validation. That Soap was _good enough_ for Price. He longed for Price to take control, to tell him these feelings were _okay_ so that he didn't have to feel that concern writhing in his gut. To feel that powerful safety, protection. Gradually, he notices a new feeling rising. Tingling, dizzy, quaking legs and he's swiftly aware of growing arousal and the panic bulldozes its way in again.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Soap replied, far too quickly – he regretted. "Uf it didn't occur tae you, it's no' often I ge' a massage from another _guy_!"

"Not _often_?" Price said smugly.

"Ah bloody hell, you _know_ wha' I mean!"

Frowning inwardly, Soap cursed his sensitivity. He wasn't the kind of guy who just _waltzed_ into these situations. His eyes didn't lie, the lad really _was_ as sincere as he appeared to be. He never expected anything from anyone. Sometimes, his self-confidence even made him too uncomfortable to go _forward_ with others.

Something brushed against his thigh and, silently, he knows it's Price's length. The other is so _close_ , his usual, rugged scent of cigars replaced by something spicy but he doesn't mind. All he could think about was how close Price was, abs contracting beneath _experienced_ hands and he felt so small compared to the other, so incapable.  
Subtly, Soap craned his neck in an attempt to see behind him. Price's chest had more hair on than Soap's, the Scot preferring hair to be only on his head and face, but Price held his own as it made him look more _mature_ , for lack of a better word.

Reminded Soap that Price was a _real_ man.

Soap thought about running his fingers through it, an adventure through tall grass only to come to something even _taller_. Biting his lip, his eyes traveled further down, stopping at the abs. They weren't obnoxious, apparent which suggested the captain did indeed work out and was fitter than Soap had considered, but they weren't as prominent as his own. Something about the idea of Price working out had him shifting.

 _What are you doing_ , _MacTavish_!? His mind tutted, bringing him back, shame dripping down his face. He was furious with himself. It was wrong to think of Price the way he was, _wasn't_ it? Sure, he'd become significantly obsessed with the man but he hadn't really considered _why_.

Price exhaled, breath hot as it grazed Soap's skin, soft, just as he'd imagined. He'd considered his earlier thoughts and decided he should weigh out the pros and cons of… initiating whatever he was _hoping_ to.

If Soap _did_ like him, Price would be able to take things to the next level. There were _countless_ things they could do. _Couple_ things. The idea of waking up in the morning with Soap's gravelly, Scottish brogue against his ear. The banter, but accompanied with teasing touches. Goosing the Scot when he least expected it, running his hands through that glorious mohawk, kissing those lips… touching that face… whispering compliments in Soap's ear… riding each other into total rapture… feeling _anything_ **but** _alone_.

Gaz's voice echoed in his head, "you've got the 'ots for 'im, Price," he'd accused.

Price had, of course, been in _complete_ denial, brushing him off with a sneer. "Yeah well what d' _you_ know."

"Ah come on mate, don't be so quick to dismiss it. Lad's got the 'ole _coy_ thing goin' on. I bet 'e sees you as more than just some old _fart_!"

"I'm not _dismissing_ it," Price drawled. "I've _already_ dismissed it."

He remembered the way Soap's face seemed to _light up_ – so adorable – when Price complimented him. _Good job_ , _Soap_. _Nice shooting_ , _Soap_. Anything others would've been merely _satisfied_ with seemed to push _Soap_ into bloody cloud-9!  
Come to think of it, he'd noticed his own pure _desire_ to just _grab_ the Scot and push him into something, if only to see his reaction. The notion of Soap caught off-guard and flustered… His heart thudded. Brows furrowed as he thought to himself. _What would the cons be_?

Well, one con would – _uh_ – one con would _definitely_ … definitely be…

Oh _bugger_ the cons! Helping Soap wasn't even the objective anymore. He'd been holding off for too long. He'd been _ignoring_ it for too long. And if Soap had even a _smidgen_ of interest, he'd probably _held off_ because Price was just so damn _unreadable_!

Lust had dissipated and determination took over, Price's eyes darkening as he concluded what he was going to do. He'd waited – waited and _waited_ , throwing cues, even subconscious ones, to the younger and time had finally run out. He'd been so bloody _patient_.  
Bugger the cons, because he _wanted_ Soap. He _needed_ Soap and had been _longing_ for him for an overwhelming amount of time and it had taken even Price a while to notice. Bugger the cons because he knew, if he were to risk it, nothing would make him _happier_ than being with Soap. With hands at Soap's hips, his grip tightened and he felt the other tense beneath him. Not wanting to force himself onto Soap, however, in case – God forbid – he _wasn't_ interested, Price placed his head on Soap's shoulder, testing the waters.

"P-Price?" Soap gurgled from the puddle he'd melted into. He'd acknowledged the change in atmosphere, _good_. At least he wasn't _oblivious_.

"Soap…" Price rumbled back. Next, giving in to all that his fantasies had begged for, he tilted his head to the side, pressing his lips to Soap's neck, peppering the skin with ghosting kisses. He listened for a response and could only hear Soap uttering breathlessly, but he hadn't jumped away or worse, _socked_ him.  
The younger stood very much still, on the spot, tense but showing no sign of displeasure. Carefully, Price's palms flattened against Soap's abdomen, pressing himself into his back, biting back a groan at the sensation – the _fire_ that engulfed him.

Price inhaled _deeply_ , savouring the other's cologne he'd always noticed. It _defined_ Soap from the other sweaty men, it _stood out_ , a defined scent that was bitter sweet, one you could smell months later and _recognize_. He found Soap leaning back into the touch, head tilted back to expose more of his neck and Price felt his knees weaken. The man was experienced; surprisingly so, however, it had been _some time_ since he'd met anyone who made him _feel_ the way Soap did.  
The adjustment of his hands, drifting lower, had Soap keen softly. What a _noise_ , though Price challenged himself that he could get _more_ out of the Scot. "Soap, you told me to stop ignoring my feelings and that I should _explore_ 'em more and well…" He paused, brows twitching in thought. " _I take it – mm, you're alright with this_?" Price mumbled past his kisses. " _If_ … _shit… if not then – now's a good time to – to tell me_ …"

Unexpectedly, Soap hesitated before turning to face Price. The older man's brows rose at the other's hooded eyes, lips pursed and parted slightly and he looked at least half a mile away. Price was certain he'd never seen anything like it, water dripping down fantastic features and _Christ_ , Price thought, _he's so bloody handsome_. " _Don't…_ " He murmured and for a moment Price felt worry _itching_. " _Don't… stop…_ "

It was such a relief; the Brit couldn't keep his lips from curving into a smile. _Don't stop_. Oh, he didn't intend to. But something about knowing that Soap wanted this… He grasped at Soap's hips, backing him into the wall so the water was now running over Price. Leaning in, he caught Soap's earlobe in his teeth, nibbling and licking; exhaling warm air against it and down his lavish neck, earning a deep hum. "Can't tell you how many times I've… _fan'asised_ about this…" Price purred, pressing harder against Soap's captive form.

Soap's breath caught in his throat, eyes widening at the other's words. _Fantasize_ _?_ Price had been… _thinking_ about him? _This way?_ A blush painted his cheeks, prompting a throaty chuckle from Price, the fact only causing the heat to rise. " _Fuck_! _Christ_ , Price I – I had _no idea_ you… _f-fuck_ …" He paused, a whimper slipping out as Price's teeth latched onto his pulse point, sucking tenderly. " _How_ – hmn… h-how _long_?"

"Too bloody long," Price returned gruffly. He could've had this _long ago_ , he'd _wasted_ so much _time_. It was safe to say Price was the more coherent one, though that wasn't to say he was less _affected_. Passion thrummed within him, a need to just hold Soap _close_.

Soap's hands lifted, palms reaching out to clutch at Price's form – so desperate for the touch, but the water got to him first and he winced. _Another_ thing the scars were going to keep him from. A frown caressed the younger's face, sad eyes looking to Price who was only about two inches shorter than the Scot. Price, without thinking, took Soap's wrists and pressed feather-like kisses to each one, making sure to not actually touch the wounds themselves. Soap concluded that it was the most romantic, adorable, caring thing anyone's done to him as his leg moved up to rub against the back of Price's calf. "I can't… believe this is _happening_ …" He admitted, sucking at his lower lip, cerulean eyes meeting the other's and Price visibly _gulped_.

"The things those eyes _do_ to me," he commented, entirely captivated. Price shifted, in a way that caused flesh to graze flesh and Soap jerked, letting out a low gasp. Soap hadn't quite realized how hard this entire ordeal had made him, and on top of the recent frustrations and general neglect of himself, he was trembling from nervous anticipation.

Price blinked, face falling to neutral as he glanced down. Soap was unbelievably flustered, perhaps because this was genuinely his first experience like _this_ with a _man_. Sure, he'd fooled around with guys before, aware that girls weren't all there was but this was _so_ much more… intimate. The moment he noticed a smirk growing, Soap knew he had to step up his game. Maybe he was _unintentionally_ coy, but he was no deer in the headlights. " _Like what you see_ , _Sir_?" He breathed, brogue teasing, rough.

"Looks like you've been neglecting yourself," Price noted, licking his lips as the knowing smirk stretched.

Price had the type of aura that made him seem all-knowing and confident and Soap liked that about him. Knowledge was safety, knowledge was _control_ and confidence was _sexy_. His expression crossed to startled, however, at the man's words. _Was it that obvious_? "As uf I can do _tha_ ' with _this_ bloody fiasco!" The mess of his palms were flashed, though avoidant of the water this time.

Smug, a hand drifted down Soap's chest, across his abs, lingering for a moment before moving to hover just above _needy_ manhood.

" _Shite…"_ Soap whispered, eyes locked intently with Price's alluring gaze. " _Please_ …"

"Please what?" Price asked innocently, though Soap would argue that there was nothing _innocent_ about the guy.

Whining, Soap bared his teeth, _grounding_ out, "of all th' holiest _fucks_ , Price, my body is on bloody _fire_ an' I haven't had a release in _weeks_ an' I didn't know how badly I fuckin' _needed_ this I didn't… I didn't know how badly I – I **needed** … _you_ , Price, but **God** I need you… _ah_ … Christ just bloody _touch_ me, _please_!"

The words go straight _down_ and Price's hands, within seconds, are on Soap's hips, massaging circles before drifting across the Scot's skin as though it were a canvas because Price wanted nothing more than to claim every _inch_ of Soap. He made work of the other's neck, checking that the hickey had remained and once he was happy with that he continued to lick and suck along Soap's jawline, rendering the other limp against the wall.  
Grinning, one hand slipped down onto a thigh, moving inwards and gradually back up, grazing against Soap's neglected cock. "Soap you're gunna have to keep your voice down unless you want people to come _looking_!"

"Wha' uf I _want_ 'um tae?" Soap asked softly, lips curved cheekily and Price raised a brow.

"Can't say I saw you as the _type_."

"There's a _lot_ you don't know about me, old man."

Enticed, Price pressed closer, hand gliding down Soap's length. "I'll find out soon enough." There was a glint in the man's eye, one that made Soap nervous. It was dangerous, not threatening but Soap couldn't help remembering back to all the interrogations he'd witnessed Price do. "I'm _good_ at making people _talk_."

Soap shuddered, biting at his Captain's neck in attempt to stifle a moan. Price exhaled heavily, melting at the contact. This was a dream come true to him. He came off as dominant, and that's how he liked it, but the concept of Soap being the one to push him to a wall… _Another time_. Right now, Price was going to finish what he'd started. He moved to brush over the cock again, however, half way he clutched it in his palm, pleasantly surprised at the size as his thumb danced across the slit.

A hand flew up to Price's shoulder, bringing a sharp gasp from the younger as scar contacted skin but he didn't _care_ , fingers grasping for a hold. Tactful not only in the field, Soap clenched his jaw to keep from smirking as he considered… if Price had this effect on _him_ , what effect would _he_ have on Price?  
Rich blue eyes practically glowed, flecked with need, Soap's hand moved up to the back of the other's head, pulling him in before pressing their lips together. He felt a new sensation spark in his chest, as though it was going to burst out, his eyes closing tight as he savoured the kiss. Price pushed back, fighting for control as their tongues tried to dominate each other. Soap's eyes opened to find Price's shut, his expression so soft it made his heart skip. The man's facial hair tickled Soap's cheek, bristlier than his own but it felt _good_ against his hot skin. He thought about how it'd feel against his thighs and… " _Price_ ," he growled.

The older man pulled back first, _reluctantly_ – might he add, gaze disorientated for a moment as he brought himself back from _wherever_ he'd gone to. "Bloody hell…" As if to treat the other, the hand holding Soap's cock moved up and down, slowly, but he was _moving_ and Soap's breath caught again, head tilting back, like he was having difficulty _breathing_. Price's hand squeezed firmly and the younger barely muffled a whimper, compelling the Brit to, without warning, lower himself to his knees, pumping the erection faster. Pressing hard kisses to the slit, he allowed his tongue to slip past parted lips to stroke the head of the length.  
Soap felt weak, blood beading at his lower lip as he bit to keep himself from calling out. " _Fuck_!" He cursed through his teeth, finding himself lost of the pressure, climax unreached and aching. Glancing down, he noticed Price rising back up to his feet, brows furrowed in fear that _this was it_ , praying that Price just had _bad knees_.

Instead, Price gave a seductive smirk before pointing to the ground, his hand now rubbing at his own erection. "Get on the floor," he rumbled.

Soap didn't think he'd responded to something so _quickly_ in his entire life. He almost _dropped_ to the floor, his back pressed to the ground as Price straddled him. Hands gripped at his jaw, leading him into a heated kiss which he let Price take full control of this time. Eventually, their lips parted and Price whispered, his voice _resonating_. "I'm going to make you feel _so good_ , Soap."

The Scot's legs lifted, wrapping around his naked waist in lustful invitation. "You already do," he admitted, smiling weakly.

The words softened him but the smile had him smiling _back_ , though it lasted mere _moments_ before the devious look returned. "Then _this_ is going to feel bloody _brilliant_."

Taking a finger, he slicked it with his saliva before pressing it to Soap's entrance, carefully pushing in. No way was he going to go _straight in_ , otherwise he'd hurt his partner. Fitting in another two fingers, Price groaned at how his fingers were enveloped into the walls of _rippling_ heat. He glanced to Soap, who was reaching out for something to grasp, mouth parted wide and his eyes sealed. It wasn't long before Price could move his fingers in and out with ease, parting them every so often to prepare the other. At one point, Soap gasped sharply, upper body jerking.

"Soap?" Price's hand froze, gaze checking Soap's expression. "Did I hurt you?"

Disappointed it stopped, Soap whimpered before peeking through ajar eyelids. "Just… a tiny bit. Price I – I should've probably _warned_ you tha' I… ah'm _not_ … I haven't _done_ this before."

Price blinked. Soap was a virgin? _Men wise_ , at least. "You've never been with another man?" He inquired.

Soap shook his head, as if embarrassed. "I _have_! Just… not like _this_."

"Do you want me to stop?" Concern lined his tone.

"No!" Soap blurted. "N-no, _God_ no, maybe uf we just… take it a wee bit _slower_? Sorry… I shouldn't have said anything."

"Soap, I want you t' be completely comfortable with this, alright? I'll go a slow as you need me to."

The Scot frowned. "I _want_ you tae go _fast_ ," he muttered.

The lad was full of bloody surprises. "Oh we'll _get_ there, don't worry." Price promised. Leaning in, he kissed Soap again, continuing to cautiously manoeuvre his fingers in and out. If it was producing any sound, Price couldn't make it out over the rush of the shower, which he was concerned someone would come and _complain_ about soon. That would certainly be _interesting_. Minutes passed, preparing Soap with one hand whilst the other explored freely. Soap had even started using _more_ of his hands, brushing the backs of them across Price's chest and tracing his less-prominent but still ravishing muscles. Soap had also, however, become a whining mess, finally reaching out to clutch at Price's wrist with a grunt. Meeting his gaze, he rasped, "Ah'm _ready_."

Nodding, the older man removed his fingers, taking his own cock in hand. He wasn't wrong, this was going to be _brilliant_. He'd pressed himself to Soap's entrance but before he could continue, Soap reached out, pouting. "P-Price I…" he glanced down to the older man's length, licking his lips before looking back up.

He knew just what Soap was hinting at and he found himself out of breath at the sight of those _eyes_. Managing to get a weak hum out, Price helped Soap to his knees as he got to his feet. Feeling Soap's fingers tighten around his erection was purely incredible. Dizzy, Price shifted, staring down at Soap as though blinking would make him miss something. First, fingers merely brushed along the length and he knew the younger couldn't go all out because of his wounds, but Soap was a _determined_ individual. Price knew that he wouldn't let his wounds get in the way, and anticipation swirled anxiously in his gut. _He'd wanted this so badly_.

Lips pressed to the slit and Price rumbled, but he wasn't prepared to feel the inside of Soap's mouth closing around him, tongue firmly brushing up and down and round as his cheeks hollowed and Price understood now what Soap meant when he said he had done _things_ with another man. Or maybe more than one. He felt a prick of _jealousy_ at the concept. Even seeing Soap _talking_ with another guy, friend or not, had made him feel fairly shit, though back then, he hadn't been aware of his feelings for the Scot. A hand made its way to Soap's mohawk, running through the finely trimmed cut, grabbing handfuls as his hips moved in time with the other's head bobbing.

Soap pulled off with a loud slurp and Price couldn't keep himself from asking, " _Where_ on Earth did you learn to _do_ that?"

Cheeks blossomed to rose again and Soap chuckled softly, reaching to scratch the back of his neck. That seemed to be a nervous habit, Price had observed. " _You're_ not the only one with experience."

Price felt his mood faintly drop. There it was again.

" _That_ an'… Actually? Never mind…"

Well now his interest's been piqued. "And _what_?"

Soap bit his lower lip, averting his gaze to the floor. "I – I _dunno_ , I uh… I used tae _watch_ stuff. I just kinda… _picked it up_ I guess…"

Price snorted. "You mean _porn_?"

He chuckled nervously. "I… _guess_ you could call it tha'?"

Infatuated, Price lowered himself back to the floor, positioning the dripping head of his cock against Soap's entrance. "Bloody _adorable_ ," he remarked, pushing in, earning him a low, heavy groan.

"Ah _fuck_ yeah," Soap rumbled, prompting a soft, " _shh_ ," from Price, as he allowed Soap to adjust to his size as he slipped in deeper. "That feel good?"

Soap's mouth fell wide, whimpering softly with each glide of Price's cock. "Aye... _very_."

Price carefully pulled himself out of the heat, to then _plunge_ himself back in. This repeated a few more times before the pace picked up, their hips thrusting in sync. Pleasure at last, Price becomes noticeably _animalistic_ , clutching at Soap's biceps to steady himself as he pounded into the other who, by now, was calling out his name. Maybe another time, but Price didn't currently _want_ any intruders, he wanted Soap _all_ to himself. He deserved _that much_. A hand reached up to Soap's mouth, grasping it tightly to muffle all and any sounds from him, which, _fortunately_ , made Soap even _hotter_. Eyes began to roll along with Soap's head, their breathing fast, bear-like as Price laid into his gorgeous company.  
Soon, he found himself captive to Soap's sapphire stare. It was beautiful, gorgeous blue with flecks of navy, hooded lids amplifying every emotion and the sincerity _was_ there, comforted by _carnal desire_ and Price exhaled sharply at it, pleased to be able to finally pay attention to them in detail. The torture he'd endured during missions, when Soap would make eye contact in briefing and Price could feel himself falling there and then but had to remain composed.

Soap's pre-fluids and solid length rubbed against his abdomen, his walls constricting and contracting around Price's cock, leaving the man burning with arousal. Soap's natural musk combined with his tasteful cologne heightened Price's senses to something that made him feel _invincible_. With the Scot below him, he could see every expression and he'd noticed the way Soap's eyes seemed to trace Price's body, examining every section of him, which he _was_. From the way the Captain's body moved to the way he bared his teeth with every thrust, eyes alight with determined passion, short hair rippling beneath the shower's spray, forehead creased with concentration. He would definitely be sketching this later on.

"What a bloody _treat_ ," Price said lovingly, leaning closer to nuzzle his face into the crook of Soap's neck.

Soap tried to smile back but Price had hit _something_ sensitive, causing eyes to roll back and a low wail to bleed from beneath Price's hand. " _Fuck_!" He gasped, hands reaching up to grip at Price's hair, pulling and running his fingers through it and down his face, wanting to feel the other's whiskers bristle against his wounds, though he avoided it because he figured it would make Price uncomfortable. Soap passed it off as a weird kink, trying to distract himself with the grunts the older was making. Part of him was constantly worrying over whether he was actually _pleasing_ Price. Validation was _everything_. What if Price was just being nice? What if the Scot wasn't all that good?

Whimpering, he glanced down at his pulsing length, exhaling heavily at the sight. There was nothing he could do for himself and it infuriated him. _Can't even jack yourself off_ , his mind mocked.

Price could practically feel the switch of emotion in the lad and slowed his thrusts. "What's wrong? Not goin' too – _guh_ , fast for you, am I?"

Soap gave a firm shake of his head, his hips having stopped moving as he stared down at his cock irritably.

Following the Scot's gaze, Price could only grin at the forgotten member. He licked his lips, confident as he gripped it with his right hand and began pumping, the left one maintaining its grip on MacTavish's mouth. "How are you so bloody _attractive_?" Price hummed affectionately.

The younger Captain could already feel himself shrinking _back_ from the other. He hadn't considered _compliments_ and _praise_. How was he supposed to explain that to Price? That he had difficulty… _accepting_ them? He could shower, ironically, Price in compliments all day _every_ day, but vice versa? The thought was nauseating. _Not as attractive as you_ , he wanted to pass back – a game of hot potato, except whenever it was passed to him he'd _run for his life_. "Price _please_ , f-faster!" He'd shaken his mouth free of Price's hand, which slipped to his jaw.

Price laughed, one of his throaty laughs that always drew in Soap's attention. And indeed it _did_.

Soap found himself arching into the other's touch, _begging_ for the speed to increase. " _Price!_ " He growled, harshly bringing his hips up, which created a new angle, causing him to cry out. "Ah _fuck_ Price! Do tha' _again_!"

Hearing the beautiful sound, Price felt himself _shake_ , immediately increasing the pace, repeatedly hitting the _sensitive_ spot Soap had basically _given_ to him. He gripped tighter at his partner's flesh, repeatedly bringing his hand up and down the soaked length, drawing some delightful sounds out of Soap, who was now in complete bliss as he bucked and thrust his hips, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh soaked up by the room's emptiness. " _Sh-Shite! Price_!" He warned. " _Ah'm_ … _ah Christ_ …" Soap looked at Price deeply, azure hues drowning in need as he ground out a guttural hum. Soap was cut off when an unfamiliar sound was wrenched from the depths of his throat.  
It was truly one of the most _amazing_ sounds Price had ever heard! In fact, it was _the_ noise he'd fantasized about, wishing that one day, _he_ would be the cause of it.  
Price let out another grunt as Soap earned his release, white fluids flicking up onto the chest above him.

 _That was it_ , he couldn't hold _on_ any longer. The sound Soap just made, along with his incredibly _hot_ release pushed him straight over the edge. " _Soap…_ " Price gasped, releasing the younger man's length as he gripped at the thighs that straddled his muscular waist. " _You're bloody perfect, Soap…_ " That was his sign to Soap, and that was the _only_ sign the Scotsman got before Price pulled out and rubbed his erect arousal a few, _vigorous_ times, releasing his fluids, breathlessly watching them splatter up Soap's chest and onto his face. Price's arms went weak and his strength faded, sending him clattering onto Soap's broad chest.

It took a few moments for both Price and Soap to stop heaving, allowing their bodies to come down from euphoria; the air heavy and hot. The white fluids were soon washed away by the continuous downpour of water; all evidence of their doings _gone_.

Limp on the floor, Soap laid with his chest rising and falling in desperation for air, now pinned down by Price's weight. It didn't take much time for Price to hoist himself up, however, standing over Soap with a wide grin.

" _I came here tae fuckin' wash…_ " the Scot chuckled, allowing Price to help him up.

"You an' me both," Price snorted, giving a playful wink. "Are you gunna need some help dryin' off?"

Soap rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a wee _pick-up_ line tae me. But _aye_ , I'm not gonna be able tae do it."

" _Bollocks_ ," Price grunted, pressing his arm to his nose.

"Wha'?" Soap raised a brow, heading to retrieve his towel.

"I smell of your bloody _cologne_ …"

Soap chuckled, shrugging.

"It's not bloody _funny_! That stuff smells too _good_ to be _mine_! The others will notice!"

At that comment, Soap briefly blushed, his back to the exit as he proceeded to pick up his towel. Price _liked_ his cologne? He'd have to make sure to wear it more often. "Nah they won't." Towel in hand, he strode over to Price and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss which threatened to start the arousal _all over_ again. Breaking apart, he flashed his trademark, cheeky smile. "An' uf they _do_ ask, jus' tell 'um you used _Soap_!"

Price wasn't listening, however, his eyes wide and staring straight past Soap's head. Concerned, brows furrowed and he followed the older's line of sight, his own eyes widening. Ghost stood at the door, mask and glasses on, thankfully, though Soap didn't doubt the man was gawping. Absolutely traumatized, _probably_. "Ghost–!"

Ghost, on the other hand, apparently wasn't quite so up for a _conversation_ at that moment, waving his hands as he backed out of the room as if to say, _I saw nothing_ , before disappearing off down the corridor.

Soap glanced to Price who was, humorously, more _shaken_ by what had just happened than he was. Lightening the mood, Soap wrapped an arm around Price's waist, smirking. "Bastard's bloody lucky that's _all_ he saw."


	7. Heartbroken

Letting go had never been easy, but with Soap, Price knew it could never be harder. White knuckles, his fist pressed down upon the bloodied, wooden surface, pain gnawing through his wrist from where he'd _slammed_ it. This didn't have to _happen_. Soap could still be alive. He didn't have to die.  
 _Shite_ , _think 'e's lookin' right at us_ …  
Soap's words repeated in his head. Price should've known _then_. Should've called it off, should've somehow _known_ Makarov was aware. Should've… should've _listened_ to the anxiety in Soap's tone. When Kamarov didn't answer his radio – he should've _known_. So bloody untrusting… Concluding that Kamarov had fucked up instead of considering something could be off. Makarov was a wild dog, and with him came the hunting instinct of one. If he'd have just… _considered_ … Soap could still be alive.

Devastated, the moment the dying man's grip slipped from his own it was like his own soul departed, lingering from above, taking all emotion with it because Price refused to feel that right now. Refused to acknowledge the utter turmoil of anguish, the ice-cold touch of hurt that froze him from the inside out. Ghost and Roach were back at their base, and although they were still breathing, they weren't _his_ men. He didn't have the bond with them that he'd had with Soap. That he'd had with Gaz, and now, he most likely never would have, because the old man could only expand his heart so much before it snapped.

Everything he _could've_ had faded before his very eyes, cerulean hues in a vacant stare. It's the feeling of knowing the love of your life is on their way to visit you, ready to move in and start their life with you, and then you get the phone call – car crash, _instant death_. It's like finally finding the engagement ring you lost in the sea, only to accidentally drop it in again, watching as it's pulled back out to pure vastness. The feeling you get when your dearest loved one's life support sings its final note. It's like witnessing the massacre of your entire family, being the only survivor. Like watching a starving child take its last breath, eyes glistening with _unlived potential_. Unnecessary things that didn't _have_ to happen, but they _did_. Because that was life. And upon the table lay the reason Price had been so reluctant to trust again.

 _Makarov…_

 _Soap was gone, and there was nothing he could do._

 _Knows…_

A hole in his heart that would continue to cave in, until there was nothing left. All he could do now was avenge him, move forward like a breath exhaled from the Earth. _Somehow_.

Lifting a hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, now aware of the expectant gazes surrounding him. A soldier always finishes his mission. Even with his dying breath, he would do it. _For Soap_.

 _Yuri…_

Sharply, Price turned on a heel as he sped through the room and towards the back door, head low to avoid the gunfire which bombarded like jungle rain. " _Yuri!_ " He spat, pointing at the exit. _"_ _Open it_ _!"_

Yuri gave a firm nod, approaching the door before turning the handle. Once open, he turned for further instructions, only to be met by a fist – straight in the nose!

Disorientated, the Russian stumbled back and down the staircase, body thundering to the bottom where he lay groaning, clutching at his face. He could see Price storming after him, pistol raised and cocked, a buffalo protecting its calf, eyes focused intently on Yuri and if looks could kill, the Russian would surely be a shredded mess slathered across the floor by now.

"Soap _trusted_ you!" Price snarled, "I thought I could _too_!" Betrayed again, they'd been through enough, Shepherd driving a knife both literally and metaphorically through their respect for all but themselves. _We're in this together_ , he remembered telling Soap. "So why, in bloody hell, does Makarov know you!?"

Price's expression wasn't one Yuri recognized. Foreign, for disdain was raw and unforgiving, merciless glare foreshadowing _almost_ certain death. The gun was pressed to his forehead and Yuri dared not blink – whatever could be perceived as an action of _defiance_.  
Truly, his interactions with Soap had been limited and Yuri was never a man of engaging personal interests, per se. Get the job done, _no loose ends_. Comradeship was a far cry from friendship, to the ex-spetsnaz. Attachments were a _liability_ , and to be stone cold you had to close yourself off from the world. From the frantic blaze in Price's eyes, he assumed Price had _failed_ to conquer this. "I was young, -" Yuri began, remaining unmoving from the position he'd fallen in, staring into the barrel of the gun that he _did not fear_. " – and patriotic, when I first met Vladimir Makarov…"

* * *

"Yuri, wake up," Makarov insisted, nudging a hand against the man's knee. "Zakhaev wouldn't want you t' miss this… This deal will generate millions for our cause."

It was quite the promise, and for a young mind, very _alluring_. The deal of a better future, patriotic morals and a cause worth fighting for. Propaganda so incredibly discreet even Yuri overlooked it, a downfall he would come to regret.

"Money can buy many things, even power," Makarov explained. Yuri had smiled, excitement internal but shared through Makarov's _mild_ social oppression. Mild at the time. "The road to our future begins here, my friend," he nodded to Yuri's right, prompting the man to turn his head.

Armoured vehicles crowded the space, Zakhaev visible several feet away, clearly carrying out the deal Makarov spoke of. The anticipation had been building for some time, wide eyes observant. Makarov appeared to be a lot more infatuated with the concept of money and power, whereas Yuri's respect remained with his country. As long as it brought them the freedom Zakhaev promised. Within seconds, however, everything turned sour. A clang rang out through the air and Zakhaev was launched backwards, his arm detaching in the process. _Sniper_. Instinctively, Yuri threw himself to the left side of the car, just as a bullet hit the side causing the windows to shatter harshly, his ears ringing from the sheer impact.

Lifting his head, he peered out of the window to see Zakhaev approaching, collapsing for a moment against the car as he opened the door causing blood to spurt through the window, some drops staining Yuri's ankle. The moment Zakhaev entered the vehicle, the engine roared to life and Makarov slammed his foot down, accelerating out of the area, mowing down observing guards in the process.

"Zakhaev never forgot what we did for him that day. Our reward was power, but power… _corrupts_ ," Yuri breathed, glancing from the gun to Price, his own eyes slanted, vaguely blood shot from the blow. He continued…

He followed Makarov up the staircase leading to the roof of Al-Asad's safehouse, a hesitant shadow to the psychopath, though safe was not at all what it was by this point, for it had partially been destroyed.

"Today, we show the world our true strength," Makarov announced, gazing out to the nearby city, gunfire erupting from deep within it into sandstorm ridden skies which were occupied by helicopters. "Perhaps it will give you some as well."

Moments passed, Yuri reciprocating the other's gaze, before Makarov's phone rang. Eerie bleeping upon a war-torn battlefield, his gaze breaks, turning to watch Makarov answer the call.

"Is everything ready?" Makarov inquired. "Do it," he responded to the contact before hanging up the phone.

"Thousands of souls… extinguished, by the push of a button," Yuri said, expression glazed over. Reliving his hatred, his mistake – _foolishness_. He'd put his faith in a psychopath and watched as brave souls, who were just as patriotic as he, vanished amid the violent explosion which illuminated and consumed the city. Too little too late he realized, this was no _patriotism_.

"Understand, Yuri, this… is only the beginning."

"This was wasn't war," Yuri mused. "It was _madness_."

…  
He thought back to when Makarov had discovered him.

"I know what you have done, Yuri," Makarov accused, one of his men stripping the ex-spetsnaz of his weapons. "I know what you have told them. My friend, my ally, my betrayer." Implying Yuri's betrayal when really, Makarov had betrayed him since the very beginning of it all. Lied to him. _Played_ him. "What happens here today, will change the world forever. Nothing can stop this," Makarov stated, cutting the distance so that he was inches from Yuri's struggling form.  
He watched as Makarov revealed the pistol behind his back, aiming it directly at Yuri's chest. "Not even you," then, he fired one shot, a shot that would be Yuri's ticket to life or death, a chance, unlike the bullet Price was intending to place into his _skull_.

Abandoned in the car park he'd been shot in, Yuri collapsed, but crawled his way to the elevator Makarov had just taken, laying limp as he was taken to the chaos. There was a ding and the doors opened to reveal hundreds of dead bodies in the wake of his newly acquired enemies. Bleeding out, he stumbled into the room, watching innocent civilians crawling _desperately_ in fear, only to collapse again, luckily however, beside a security guard who no longer required his gun. Swiftly, Yuri grasped the weapon, gasping as he rose to his feet, blindly aiming forwards as he continued to stumble, left and right after Makarov, but he was too late, his body ceasing up and he collapsed one final time.

"I was a soldier of Russia," Yuri ground out. "Not a taker of innocent lives… but, in _his_ eyes, this marked me as the _enemy_."

To his luck, medics were quickly on the scene and awoke him from his slumber, seated right on the edge of death's chair. "We've got a live one here!" He remembered the medic calling out, bringing an oxygen mask to his face which, when he blinked, turned back into Price's pistol.

* * *

"Okay Yuri, y' bought y'self some time…" Price told him, the Russian's name now a bitter taste in his mouth as he clutched at Yuri's vest and hoisted him to his feet, gun still aimed at him. "F' now."

"Price!" Nikolai called out from the top of the staircase, better late than never. At least there was one friendly face.

The Captain turned to see him gesturing for him to come and were he in a better mood he'd comment that he _wasn't a bloody dog_. Nonetheless, he made his way up the steps and into the room, noticing that the gunfire had begun to ease.

"What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you!? There's _nothing_ t' be _happy_ about!" Price bit when he noticed the smile on Nikolai's face.

The Russian merely shook his head before moving further down the corridor. Price blinked in confusion, hesitantly following him back to Soap's body. It was only a matter of time before the shooting continued and Price gave Nikolai a glare. "What is this bollocks, Nikolai?" His gaze remained anyone but on his former partner. Although his stubborn face held no expression, it was obvious he was full of sorrow; his pupils diluted, ocean blue hues touching on a hint of crimson, darkened skin surrounding them telling of the sleep he'd missed.

Nikolai moved towards a case which was seated upon one of the wooden chairs near the table Soap laid on.

" _That's_ what you wanted to show me?" Price asked dryly.

"Partly," Nikolai replied; muscular hands moving to open the leather case, gold embroidered around the edge and a combination padlock attached near the handle, which Nikolai had started to unlock. As the case was opened, a syringe was revealed, filled with a vibrant lemon liquid. It was lifted, the Russian's grip on it noticeably tight and protective.

"Not a fan of the silence, Nikolai," Price warned.

The Russian grinned in response, approaching Soap's lifeless body as he manoeuvred the glass syringe into a more practical position, seemingly rushing, and in seconds Price found himself draped across his former partner's body, shielding it with his own.

"Price, we are running out of time!" Nikolai advised, tone sharper than usual.

" _What are you plannin' on doing to 'im?!"_ Price demanded, his stare intense and intimidating.

"You're not going to believe this my friend…" Nikolai began, holding the syringe out so that Price could see it more visibly. "- but you know I'd previously mentioned that _orb medication_?"

Price nodded.

"Well, this is it, and we're running out of time for it to work."

The Captain blinked in astonishment; amazed that Nikolai had actually gotten his hands on this mysterious liquid. _God knows where he'd gotten it from…_

Orb medication was rarer than the bloody dodo – yes, the dodo is _extinct_ , that was just _how_ unsourceable the liquid was. It was, without a doubt, one of the most dangerous chemicals that could be used within the medical field. This was because, like many medications, it had to be _correct_ – a little too much of one thing or another could bring death rather than healing, and if made incorrectly, the liquid could poison the blood stream and kill the user. However, developed correctly, orb medication provided the ability to resurrect people – _to a degree_. Of course, that sounds completely unrealistic, crazy and impossible, Price would agree, however, there was _proof_. The substance would be injected into the neck, sending it into the blood stream before attaching itself to remaining blood cells, multiplying them without destruction until they increase by at least 50%. Then, the left over liquid is passed into both the brain and heart. Once the process had been completed, and successful, the medication would act as a life booster, and was capable of getting the heart beating again.

It was verging on four minutes since Soap's heart had stopped, meaning it was around three since oxygen would've stopped being supplied to the brain. After approximately three minutes, neurons within the brain suffer more extensive damage and lasting damage to the brain become more likely. Depending on the length of time the subject is starved of oxygen, brain damage can be mild or severe. There would be no way to plan beforehand, however. Like the probability of poisoning the blood stream, there was no way to tell until the process was done, meaning if Soap was revived, brain damage could be barely noticeable or extensive, though there was no guarantee whether therapies would help the damage or be useless.

Price found himself placing a hand on Soap's forearm, gripping tightly. "How do you know it's made correctly?"

Nikolai shrugged, unintentionally insensitive. "Well, I figured that if things went wrong, it wouldn't matter, as he is already dead…"

"'bout right…" Price muttered, frowning down at the floor.

" _Nikolai_!" One of the men hissed from behind the Russian.

Nikolai's expression contorted into immeasurable discomfort. "дерьмо́, Price… I'm _sorry_ , I didn't mean to-"

"No," Price interrupted. "You're right. 'e's dead."

Knowing there wasn't time to waste, Nikolai shifted uncomfortably as he tightened his grip on the syringe. "Do you permit me to try?"

Peering down into the blank, lifeless canvas of glittering blue, Price longed for them to come to life and meet his lonely gaze, but he didn't think such a thing could happen. He didn't even believe the Orb Medication would work, as he knew better than to get his hopes up. "Do it…"

With no hesitation, Nikolai pressed the needle into Soap's neck, watching as the glowing fluids were absorbed into the stressed vein that stuck out of the younger man's skin. It didn't take long before the liquid vanished, and the Russian removed the needle.

 _Just another day at the office_. Price stepped closer, taking Soap's hand in his, body motionless as the lingering frown deepened. "We need to get 'im to a medic."

With a nod from Nikolai, Price pressed the button at his neck, speaking into the radio. "This is Bravo Six, requesting evac."

"Roger that Bravo Six, we are inbound," the pilot replied through the link.

Biting the inside of his cheeks, Price hoisted Soap into his arms, praying that something good would come from this. "Move," he ordered. " _Cover us_."

Nikolai and Price took the lead, heading through the exit of the building, followed by several members of the rebel group, _then_ Yuri.

Price glanced down at Soap's lifeless face, desperation etching into his own as he looked over his friend, his partner, his _lover._ " _Please_ …" He whispered, biting his lower lip. " _Pull through_."

"Bravo Six, LZ one has been compromised, encountering massive resistance, waving off for LZ two, repeat, waving off for LZ two," the pilot informed, Russian accent thick through static.

Price gave a low grunt, attempting to reach for his neck while multitasking with Soap's weight.

" _Roger that_ _…" Yuri's voice crackled through the radio and Price turned his head, seeing Yuri at his six. He must've noticed the_ _handful_ _._

The group sped through the deserted area and towards what seemed to be an empty spread of sand and land.

"Can't they go any bloody faster," Price hissed when he spotted the incoming helicopter.

Nikolai was first on, an exchange of Russian given as he thanked the rebels for their assist. Yuri followed, still clutching at his nose. Price, however, hesitated as he felt something brush against his thigh. Eyes opened _wider_ , eyebrows rising in shock as he stared down at the shivering body.

 _Shivering._

"Shit!" Price jerked, unable to hold back both the surge of panic that clutched at his lungs as well as the burst of joy that slapped him in the chest.

"We have to go!" The pilot urged, knowing it wouldn't take long for the enemy to catch up.

Rejecting help from Nikolai, Price clambered in, holding Soap close as he attempted to seat the limp body beside him. "Let's go, let's go!" He banged a fist against the helicopter's side.

Even being up in the air didn't mean they weren't at risk. All it would take was one good RPG hit to knock them straight back down. Soap had ceased the shivering, unmoving as before, and Price was concerned that his eyes had deceived him. If that was the case, he kept it to himself.

Nikolai was concerned by the look in Price's eyes, the eyes of a mad man. Gently, he placed a hand on the Brit's shoulder, massaging the tense area, watching him cautiously.

At the touch, Price's head snapped up and the glare he gave Nikolai was _frightening._ If looks could kill… "Get the _hell off me_ …"

Nikolai hesitated before removing his hand, instead, relocating it to his own knee. "Price…" He muttered. " _Understand_ that you can _talk_ to me –"

But Nikolai was soon cut off by a laugh, hysterical in his anguish Price's head tilted back, barking near mockingly. " _Right_ , 'cause _you're_ so bloody trustworthy!" He accused. "Aren't you the one who passed _this_ –" he pointed to Yuri. " – bollocks onto me? Talk t' _you_. The only bloody person I could _talk_ to is **fucking** _dead_ in my arms, Nikolai! What about that don't **you** _understand_?"

It was then that he felt something nudge his leg again, eyes darting to the body tilted into his lap. The sudden movement made his head whir and he felt light headed, his vision blurring. _Was he going crazy_?

" _Price,_ _"_ Nikolai growled, gripping the man by the shoulders, pushing him back against his seat.

Price let out another growl as he tried to break free of the grip but exhaustion seeped into his chest. Laying limp, Price locked himself onto Nikolai's intense gaze, tiredly staring back.

" _You've_ ** _got_** _to calm down!"_ The Russian stressed.

Like an angry child Price fell into silent rebellion, distracting himself with the man in his arms. He would not rest until Soap was safe.

"We've arrived," the pilot alerted, sharp voice snapping Price from his daze.

" _Fuck…_ _"_ the Captain exhaled, pushing himself to his feet. He climbed out before turning to lift Soap. Nikolai watched, amazed by the tired man's dedication as he carried his partner through the doors of the building.

"Get a _medic_!" The Brit ordered, stumbling as he half-dragged Soap to the infirmary, laying him on one of the beds. Even if he _was_ brought back, he'd probably die again from his injuries. Price grabbed Soap's hand, holding it close to his heart, curling himself around it. _"Come_ _on_ _you bastard,_ _I_ ** _can't_** _lose you…"_

As a medic came racing through the doors, Price laid Soap's hand back on the bed as he turned to face the incoming person.

"What happened?" The medic asked, his vibrant, green eyes examining Soap's wounds.

"What the bloody hell does it _look_ like?" Price growled, pointing at his friend.

The man merely met Price's intense gaze, locking on for a few seconds before dropping his sight down to Soap again. " _I'll do my best_ …" Was all he said as he got to work.

Price sneered at the medic. " _You'd better do bloody more than that…_ _"_ he cautioned before turning and leaving, though not for good. Never for good.

That was… _if_ he even came back.

* * *

It had been about five hours since Price had left Soap to the medics. For four of those hours he'd been _awake_ , staring at the table he was seated at, eyeing the discarded rubbish that had obviously been abandoned when the place was turned into an infirmary. He still found himself questioning why no one had cleaned it up, seeing as the bin was barely a few feet from him. Even at his old age, he was capable of doing such.

Brows furrowed.

 _Old._

The word just didn't sound right in his head. It had to come from Soap's lips for it to give him to warm, bubbly feeling. Otherwise, it was just an insult; an un-amusing one, at that. He hadn't noticed, but he'd chewed his fingernails right down to the nubs of his fingers, sensitive skin stinging slightly as he tapped the table surface.

By now, he was aware that he'd drifted off into some sort of mind stasis that was trying to keep him from, well, _everything_. A protective shield. It was _painful_ , actually. Knowing it, and still being unable to _believe_ it. Makarov had taken so much that wasn't his, and Price was going to make sure he fucking _paid_ , in _blood_.

"I'm going to kill 'im," he whispered, his voice hoarse, throat sore. He hadn't realized that he'd gone the five hours without saying a _word_ , the lack of communication after such trauma beginning to play on him.

" _Price…_ _"_

The older Captain blinked at the voice behind him. He _knew_ that voice! But… it _couldn't_ be!

" _Oh c'mon, you're no' excited tae see me_? _I thought you'd miss me at least a wee bit, old man_ …"

Price did nothing but freeze. _Old man._ In disbelief, Price was frozen in place, his heart thudding, overwhelming his rib cage. Part of him dreaded that someone was screwing with him, so, he turned his head, glancing over his shoulder, only to see the man himself behind him. "Soap!" He choked, rising from his seat and approaching the Scot cautiously, wrapping his arms around him in a loving embrace – one that threatened to crush the other. Two, scarred hands reached up, gripping at both sides of Price's jaw.

"I thought you were _gone_ …" Price uttered, his tone full of _hurt_.

" _Ah'd never leave you, Price…_ _"_ the younger Captain whispered back as he leaned in to press their lips together.

Wanting nothing more than for the moment to last for as long as it possibly could, Price followed, leaning in to kiss his partner, only to halt. "Soap?" Price hesitated, his voice torn with concern as his lover's flesh began to pale, then become bluer as dead eyes stared back and his form started to _disintegrate_ into _nothing_. _"Soap!"_ Then, just like that, Soap was _gone._

"Captain Price?"

Price's head snapped up from the table, his eyes red and sore as he twisted his head, looking to the figure behind him.

 _It was just the bloody_ ** _medic_** _!_

He came to realize that Soap had never actually been there. It was just a figment of his imagination, much to his _disdain_ and disappointment.

" _What is it?"_ Price drawled.

"Your friend _Yuri_ … He tells me this MacTavish… _passed_. Is this true?" The medic offered Price his hand to help him up.

 _Friend_. "'e been calling 'imself that, 'as 'e?" He abrasively ignored the hand, and the question, pushing himself to his feet.

The medic raised a brow, hand lowering awkwardly back to his side. "N-No I – just assumed…"

"Assumed wrong, mate," Price replied bluntly.

"My apologies, Captain Price. Perhaps you would like to come and see?" The medic suggested, taking the lead as he exited the empty cafeteria.

Price followed the medic down the hall; his feet dragging like the paws of a tired bear. Sleep was something he'd accepted as a lost cause some time ago, or at least gaining _enough_ of it.

The medic stopped in one of the many doorways and pointed into the room at the bed Soap's body lay upon. Price continued past the man in white and approached his friend cautiously. _Was this one real_? The fragile bleeping of the heart monitor was what he noticed first, followed by the lax, soft breaths that slipped from Soap's parted lips. The younger Captain's chest rose and fell delicately, just like that of a _living_ human being!

Happiness surged through Price, uncontrollable as he felt his knees buckled beneath him but he didn't care. The pain that surged through his legs was blanked entirely as he stared in awe. Soap was alive. Soap was breathing! The medication had fucking worked! That was all that mattered to him, all that ever mattered. He hit the floor with a slow thud, his view becoming groggy as someone grabbed at his arms, pulling him back up to his feet. He was partially lifted, partially dragged over to a green chair that occupied the space on the right side of the bed. Déjà vu.  
A face appeared in front of his, a hand waving back and forth, lips mouthing something, shouting, a bright light drifted across his line of sight…

" _Price_ _?_ _Price_ _!?_ _Dammit, can you hear me, Price_ _?" Nikolai shouted, rubbing at Price's shoulders to try and bring him back._

" _Nikolai_ _!"_ Price grinned, his eyes beaming just as much as his smile was. _"Soap's_ ** _alive_** _!_ _He's bloody alive! Your bullshit_ ** _worked_** _!"_ The Captain exclaimed, his hands gripping at the boonie hat on his head.

Nikolai couldn't help but feel a weak smile grow on his lips. He'd never seen such an expression on Price. "It would seem that way, my friend," the Russian nodded, giving a friendly nudge to Price's shoulder.

"I have done my best with his wounds. They will, unfortunately, require some time to heal, however," the medic informed in a hushed tone.

"Oh he's not gunna be going _anywhere_ ," Price reassured. It was naivety that got him into this position in the first place. Second place? If he'd let that knife wound heal, he'd have had a better chance of pulling through, the stubborn bugger. Besides, Makarov had made this _personal_.

"You must understand that there may be problems –" the medic began, before being cut off by Price's sharper tone.

"Problems, what d'you mean ' _problems'_?"

Nikolai stepped in, waving the medic off as a _no go zone_. "Thank you, doctor, I will take it from here."

Watching, he waited for the medic to leave before turning to meet Price's _interrogation_ _glare_. Apparently, Nikolai was a lot more informed than he was, though he shouldn't be surprised. Bloody _Russians_. "Price, there _may_ have been complications."

"Get t' the bloody point, Nikolai, will you?"

"The doctors believe he _was_ starved of oxygen."

Price's face dropped. "F' how long?"

"Approximately two minutes. Maybe three."

Price remained silent, though the way his fists clenched and knuckles whitened told Nikolai to step back. _He wasted time with Yuri_. He could've acted _immediately_!

"There is no way of telling how bad the brain damage may be until he wakes. But there is the _small_ chance he might be okay."

"What kind of brain damage are we talking here?"

Nikolai crossed his arms over his chest, gaze averting to Soap. "The doctor tells me anything from difficulties with speech, movement, memory… we will just have to wait and see."

Patience – right. Of course. Price exhaled, running a hand across his forehead as Yuri entered, seemingly out of breath.

"I was looking all over…" Yuri stated.

" _Keep looking_ ," Price bit back. He pushed himself up from the chair and stood over his partner, watching for signs of movement. Blocking out his surroundings, he must've been stood there for an hour when the Scot's eyelids began flittering. The muscles in his face twitched here and there, eyes clamped shut and Price was shaking at the thought of gazing into them again. Of feeling Soap's touch against his bare skin… plump lips against his neck…

Faster than the Captain had prepared himself for, azure hues blinked open and glanced around the room, causing Price to take a few steps back beside Nikolai and Yuri who were _apparently still there_.

Soap seemed to be taking in his surroundings, scanning over Nikolai, then Yuri who trampled out to find the medic, before settling on Price's face. However, Price noticed that there was something _missing_. No cocky smirk, no mysterious gaze, no _"_ _hey, old man_ _…"_  
Something was wrong.  
What had been an expressive, peaceful gaze soon turned colder, more _defensive_. "Who the bloody hell are you lot!?" Soap hissed slowly, teeth gritting in frustration. "Where the fuck am I?"

"Soap…" Price murmured.

The Scot turned his gaze to Price and he paused, as if thinking. He must've sat there, staring at the older man's face for about _two_ minutes before he seemed to come back. "How d' you know my name!? Who the bloody hell are _you_?"

There it was.

Right there and then.  
 _'_ _Who the bloody hell are_ ** _you_** _!?'_

Soap _didn't_ recognize him.

Didn't _know_ him.

Didn't **_love_** him.

Price's expression dropped off and he was certain he heard it hit the floor with a thump, his skin turning an eerie shade of white as he shook his head in utter disbelief. A sharp pain pricked inside his chest, and he flinched, actually _wanting_ to _cry_ as he turned and exited the room, speeding past Yuri and the medic. He located a spare room that was empty and slammed the door behind him, locking it before collapsing to his knees. He didn't cry, he wouldn't let himself, but he lay on the floor and curled up so that he was holding himself.

The pain in his heart pricked again and he let out an agonized wail, hands clambering to cover his mouth, muffling the noise.

 ** _Heartbroken_** _._


	8. Old Man

" _He's gone, Price_. _They're all gone_ …" _Soap laughed_ , _pointing a finger at the man collapsed before him_. " _You jus' couldn't save 'um, could you_? _Pretty pathetic if you ask me_. _Too much of a pussy tae save 'um, eh Price_? _Couldn't cope with the thought of riskin' your own life_?"

"I'm sorry…" Price whispered.

" _Sorry_? _You think sorry's goin' tae make up f'r all your mistakes_? _Look_ , _Price_!" _Soap gripped Price's jaw_ , jerking his head so his gaze was on the wall. " _Look at 'um all_. _How sad they were_. _How much bloody agony they were in_! _How disappointed they were with you_ , _Price_." Suddenly, an image appeared on the wall, as though his eyes had been the camera for these were literal memories being shown, some sick movie!

Griggs could be seen, holding an 'air-mic', beat-boxing and rapping away like he always did in his free time, laughing every now and then with the audience, his men… his _family_. Next, he appeared with Soap, dragging the Scot to safety. He stopped to aim but a bullet shot straight through his throat, knocking him to the ground – dead, blood spurting out into the air. It faded and Gaz appeared, happy, laughing, smiling… his lips were moving, but no sound was produced. Price's expression softened, remembering what a little _sod_ the lad was. What he'd give to have that presence with him now… The image of Gaz flickered to him laying on the ground, a _bullet_ hole in his skull. It seemed to be in reverse and Price watched, eyes wide with horror as the bullet exited Gaz's skull, pausing on that moment where Gaz _realized_ he was going to die. The image faded again, this time revealing Soap, laying on that wooden table, blood pooling from his wounds and life draining from his eyes.

" _No_!" He tried to shout, yet it only came out as another weak whisper.

" _Yes_!" _Soap replied, his voice sounding more British now, than Scottish._

" _Why_ are you _doing_ this?" Price croaked.

" _Because you're worthless, Price_!" _The younger Captain laughed, delivering a harsh kick to Price's side_. " _Absolutely fucking worthless_! _You get everyone killed_! _Everyone 'o's ever trusted you_!"

A sharp pain stabbed him in the rib as he was kicked, but his gaze was still glued onto the screen, his body resistant to move at all.

" _It's **your** fault_!" _Soap barked._

"No! It's _not_!" Price denied.

" _When I was injured, I told you t' stop_! _I told you t' patch me up, so I could get back in on the fight_! _But you refused_! _You kept going_! _I could 'ave survived if you'd have fixed me there and then!" Soap declared, his voice fully British now._

"You're _lying_!"

" _Am I?"_

"Yes you-" _Price paused. He thought about Soap's words. He thought hard._ " _Fuck_ …" He whispered, eyes dull and large as he let out a sharp gasp. " _Christ…_ y-you're-"

" _Right?" Soap finished, his grin crooked._

Price whimper softly, his head barely managing a nod as he ran over Soap's words. _'It's your fault!' Yours. It was your fault!_

It must've been about seven years since he'd felt a tear against his wrinkled cheek. But he'd broken this time. He felt the liquid slowly, mockingly roll down the left side of his face. " _It was my fault_ …" He whispered.

" _Yes!" Soap agreed. Was he even Soap anymore? Was he **ever** Soap?_

The image on the wall faded, but Price's agonized expression remained printed on his face.

" _Now you see how worthless you are_ ," _Soap spat._ " _Now you see that it was always your fault. That you are a fucking failure. That you are **nothing**_!"

" _S-Soap_ …" Price stuttered, his gaze flicking to the dark figure before him.

" _Don't ever talk to me again. I don't know you. I don't talk to disappointments._ "

" _Soap_ … _please_ …" The older Captain reached out, only to get a handful of cold air.

 _Soap gave a scowl before snarling,_ " _who the bloody hell are **you**_?" _Then, he turned and disintegrated._

* * *

There was a startling knock at the door. "Price? Are you alright? You've been in there… a while…" It was Nikolai.

Price groaned, lifting his head from his forearm. He noticed now he'd locked himself in a storage closet, shelves of neatly stacked medical equipment surrounding him. He could feel where his tears stained his skin, puffy eyes shaming him. "I'm fine."

"Are you certain?" Nikolai inquired. "You were quick to leave Soap… and you… are locked in storage." Had he really come to _that point_ in life?

" _I'm fine_ ," Price snapped.

There was a low, unconvinced sigh from behind the door, followed by a long, awkward silence before the Russian's voice could be heard again. "I'll be with Soap if you need anything."

Hearing Nikolai's footsteps fall disappear brought some form of relief to Price as he stared at the wall that he'd dreamed about. What was that all about? Was it even a _dream_? No, it was a nightmare. But it felt so bloody _real!  
_  
The Captain rubbed his eyes and shook his head, groaning as he rolled his shoulders, clicking his spine back into place. He aged both _well_ and _badly_.  
There was no ache in his side after supposedly being _kicked_ , suggesting that it was merely him going crazy. "Didn't know my imagination was such a _wanker…_ " He breathed, adjusting his boonie hat before approaching the locked door.  
"Let's get some of that poker face, mate…" He said to himself, catching his reflection in the small mirror that sat on the wall, next to the door. His lips went from a frown to a straight line, perfectly constructed after witnessing years of death, dealings and the impossible.

"There you are…" He spoke, voice low and husky, his British accent thick like it should be. This way, no one would suspect anything was wrong; and most importantly, no one would _ask_. Still, he'd make sure to go to the toilets first, try and wash the feeling of guilt from his face.

Turning the lock, he listened for the click which prompted a sigh to leave him. Then, he pulled the door handle down and stepped out into the surprisingly cold hallway. Shutting the door behind him, Price stood tall and confident as he made his way towards the rest room, barely acknowledging the men and women that he passed. Thankfully, the toilets were just down the hall and he was quick to enter, making his way over to the sink. A wave of nausea lunged at him when he met the cracked mirror. This one was bigger than the previous and he could see the _details_ of his face and how he'd deteriorated within the past month. "No wonder 'e didn't recognize me," Price sighed, splashing some water over his face. Once satisfied, he patted the wet skin with a paper towel before exiting, making his way back to Soap's room.  
As he reached the door, he passed Yuri who sat in the chair just outside. Raising a brow, Price bit back all the _anger_ that threatened to pour out as he approached the Russian.

"Yuri," he called out.

Hearing Price's voice, Yuri tensed, his gaze flicking over to the other.

"What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you?" Price spat, coming to a halt as he loomed.

Yuri sat back in his seat, staring up at the older man with a dead expression, giving nothing but a weak shrug.

"Oh, don't you bloody _shrug_ me!" Price scolded. "It's _your_ fault Soap is in his current condition!"

" _Don't try to blame this on me, Price_! _You know full well that it was **your** fault. It's not a good idea, trying to find someone else to blame this on_," Yuri provoked.

"What did you just say?!" Price snarled, losing his concentration as he gripped Yuri by the collar, pulling him to his feet and to his face.

Yuri flinched at the sudden movement, unsure as to why Price was being so _aggressive_! He had merely greeted the man! "I said _hello_ , Price!"

Price paused, his skilled poker face fading to shock. _What? But – did he just **imagine** what Yuri had said?_

"I don't mean to be _rude_ , Captain Price, but could you please _let go_ of me?" Yuri requested.

Without words, Price released the Russian, shaking his head in disbelief. "I-uh, _sorry_ , I don't know what the hell came over me…" He admitted, rubbing his forehead.

Dusting the dirt from his shoulders, he unwrinkled his clothes before raising a brow. "Maybe you should get some rest, Price…"

"Believe me…" Price grunted. "I've had _more_ than enough rest…" After experiencing what he _had_ the last nap he took, he didn't think he could 'rest' ever _again._ A silence set in between the two of them, lasting several minutes before Price cut through it. "You 'aven't spoken to Soap yet, 'ave you?"

"Do you want me to be an honest man, Price, or do you want me to be a _soldier?_ " Yuri asked.

"I'll let you decide that one."

Yuri nodded. "I – greatly _regret_ knowing Vladimir Makarov, but I do not regret being patriotic. I only wish I had not been so naive. Makarov is a man of strategy, something I learned from him. I do not deny that my presence perhaps put your friend in danger, but it is likely he would've known our position whether I was there or not."

Price crossed his arms, silent.

"I cannot face Captain MacTavish right now Price, I apologize. Although, currently it is not a problem, seeing as he won't remember me…" Yuri trailed off, giving a nod to his Price before leaving.

Price stood alone for several moments, staring at the ground, captured in a thoughtful trance. Then, with a deep breath, he entered the room.

Just like before, Soap lay on his bed, relaxing and smiling, enjoying the company of Nikolai.

Price frowned. Soap looked to be having a nice time, _without_ him.

Like he… never existed.

 ** _It's_**

Quietly, Price made his way towards Nikolai, his gaze doing its best to avoid Soap. Just seeing the smile on the younger's face brought those _old_ , warm, fuzzy feelings to his stomach, threatening to break his cover. Price shook his head, remaining focused; his expression completely neutral.

"Cap'n… Price…" Soap called out, nodding in his direction.

 ** _All_**

His heart almost stopped. Price's gaze immediately flicked towards Soap's, a smile demanding to push through; however, he resisted. "Captain MacTavish," he returned the nod instead. The older Captain threw a glance at Nikolai, confused as to how Soap knew his name… what with… forgetting and all.

"He's had a lot of things explained to him," Nikolai stated, getting to his feet. "Can I speak to you for one moment, Price?"

Nikolai headed to the doorway, just out of Soap's view and Price followed.

"What is it?" Price pressed, concerned that it was bad news.

"He is doing well. Speech appears to be intact, however, memory does not. We haven't tried writing or walking yet, but he is struggling to remember certain _things_. Other than that, things are looking up, Price. I would not be too hard on yourself about this."

"What kind of things?" Price inquired, brushing past Nikolai's attempt at reassurance.

 ** _Your_**

Nikolai hummed. "He knows who he is, why he's here… there's still a good proportion of his memory there, but he's struggling with names, faces and recalling things."

Soap rolled his eyes. "I can guarantee my memory's no' as bad as _yours_ , old man," he called out, listening in on their conversation.

Price inwardly choked. _Old man._ But that was _his_ nickname!  
 _Well, it used to be…_

 ** _Fault._**

Nikolai's eyes averted to the floor, revealing that he'd acknowledged Price's loud gulp, and that he was _sorry_.

"Is somethin' wrong?" Soap inquired, looking to Price.

"Wrong? No, nothin's wrong lad," Price denied gently.

"Huh…" Soap pursed his lips, shifting.

Nikolai tapped his thigh in thought before making a clicking noise with his tongue. "I have _business_ to attend to. Price, would you mind spending time with Soap?"

Price's gut twisted. " _Uh_ …"

"Great, _thanks_ ," Nikolai, knowing Price, didn't give him much of a choice as he left the medical room.

Soap found entertainment in a magazine that sat on his side table, occasionally chuckling to himself at some of the images and words.

Price found himself staring at the younger Captain, his lips vaguely curved. Each chuckle and smile Soap gave sent a warm ripple down the Brit's spine. He awkwardly turned his gaze away to the other side of the room when Soap looked up at him.

"Are you goin' tae sit down? Or are you more of a standin' person?" Soap raised a brow.

Price shrugged. "Couldn't say… Depends on the weather."

The laugh that escaped Soap's throat hit Price in the face like a cricket ball. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before allowing his satisfaction to grip him by the cheeks, causing him to smirk.

"Weather's got nothin' tae bloody do with it," Soap rolled his eyes, admiring the other's boonie hat, pausing before asking, "has it?"

Price held back the soft smile he wanted to give. Soap was vulnerable right now, exposed to things he currently didn't _quite_ understand and all he wanted to do was protect him. "No, that was a _joke_ ," Price explained.

"I _know_ wha' a joke is y' wanker," Soap snorted. "Sit _down_ , old man."

 _Old man._

Price shivered, giving a soft nod as he moved over to the chair at the end of Soap's bed, placing himself in it. The older Captain noticed the slight change in Soap's personality, straight after he'd been called 'old man', actually. Did he _remember_? Or did he just feel bad because it was apparently _Nikolai's new nickname...?_ "So, how are you feeling?"

" _Really_?" Soap squinted, still smirking. "That's the best conversation starter you could think of?"

"It's all I've got," Price shrugged.

"Alright then. Ah've got one."

"Let's _hear_ it then, mate."

Soap's azure hues considered the man before him, taking in his appearance before meeting the other's gaze. He was well enough to notice his body respond to _that_. Admittedly, the man was attractive, and he could feel a strange _magnetism_ towards him. Had he known this man before his death? Now there's something he'd never thought he'd say. How well had he known him? He couldn't help but feel a _strain_ of something, unable to name it but it made him feel bad, a weight on his shoulders, pitying the other one. Was Price mad that he couldn't remember him? Had it been Soap's fault? "What's with the ridiculous hat?"

 _Oh, he's going there…_ Price wrinkled his nose, his smirk full of amusement. "What's with the rat on your 'ead?"

Soap paused, raising a brow as he ran a hand over his head. "That's my _hair_!"

"You should get a better cut," Price hummed, cocking his head slightly.

"What _secrets_ are you keepin' under that hat o' yours?"

Price replaced the smirk with his poker face, leaning forward, as if about to tell a secret.

Soap too tried to lean forwards, bringing the two closer together.

Price felt the distance. He could almost s _mell_ it. Either that, or he smelt of sweat. Nonetheless, he felt dizzy being so close to the man who didn't remember him. _"Hair_ ," his smirk was back as he decreased their distance, leaning against the back of the chair again.

Soap found himself biting his lip as the other came closer. It's as though his body expected him to do something? Christ, if things went on like this he was going to become damn _uncomfortable_. _What do you know that I don't_? He wanted to ask his body. He chuckled at Price's words, "don't know what I expected."

Price returned the chuckle, though it was deeper, perhaps one of the most attractive things Soap had ever _heard_. Or at least, since he'd woken up. Low and gravelly, yet gentle and friendly, the younger Captain couldn't help but feel himself _drawn_ to the other, for whatever that reason might be… Perhaps he was just naturally _charming_ , like Soap?

Price sighed, smiling to himself as he rubbed a thumb against his bristly chin. The hand drifted down, scratching at his chest when he felt something bump against him. Suddenly, he _remembered_! Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out Soap's journal. Regrettably, he'd _plucked_ it from Soap's body like a vulture, but now that he was… _back_ , he could give it to him! "Talking about _memory_ ," Price rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. "I figure you want this back?"

Soap watched Price pull a book from his vest. He reached out, taking it when it was offered to him. The cover was brown leather, splashed with blood and Soap found himself full of questions. "What is it?"

" _What is it_?" Price repeated back, astonished. "It's… that's _yours_. I don't really know what's _in_ it, you weren't one for _exhibits_ ," he explained. Every time he'd approached Soap when he was doodling away in his book, the younger would refuse to show him. Probably a self-confidence thing, knowing him. "You doodle in it and… I don't bloody know, take a _look_?"

Cautiously, Soap opened the first page, then the second, silent as he flicked through, stopping at one specific page. "This is _mine_?" He asked.

"It is."

More silence. Price examined the other's face as he scanned the pages, curious to what lay inside the journal. Especially about what Soap would write _before_ he and Price got closer. Whether it was a 'dear diary' kind of journal, or a note-taking journal… Continuing on, but not for long, Soap paused at another page, eyes wide as his gaze flicked up to glance at Price and then back down again.

"Is something wrong?" Price asked.

"N-No," Soap replied nervously. "I just… These sketches are bloody _awful_!" He grimaced. "There's… uh… _wait_. You're not gonna think ah'm _weird_?"

"I bloody _know_ you're weird," Price remarked.

Scoffing, Soap bit his lip for a moment, thinking. "There's… well there's a picture of _you_ , _apparently_ … that I drew…"

Intrigued, Price raised a brow. "Can I 'ave a look?"

Soap nodded shyly. "Aye but just… it's _awful_ …"

Approaching the bed, he leaned over Soap's shoulder to have a look.

The younger felt himself shrink beside the other, eyes fixated on Price's face, waiting for a reaction. " _I_ happen to think that's very good," Price countered, squinting at the writing beside it. "What does _that_ say?"

Soap leaned closer, reading it out-loud. "Don't know how Captain MacMillan never ordered Price's –" He fell quiet, a hand racing to cover his mouth.

Price looked to the other's reaction, and having heard his name he just had to finish reading…

He blinked. ' _Price's dick tickler neutralized_.'

Unable to control himself any longer, Soap burst into laughter.

" _Dick tickler_ ," Price commented, knowing it was an obvious reference to the moustache he'd sported numerous years ago, judging by the difference in the drawing.

"I don't – _listen_ – ah'm not sure who MacMillan is but I _am_ sure he thinks it's lovely!" Soap defended, grinning. " _I_ think it's lovely! Now _and_ then. Ah'm not – not sure _why_ I called it tha'… It looks… It doesn't even _look_ …" Then he broke off into more snickering.

Price was inwardly amused but outwardly? No, his face remained _hardened_ , causing Soap to cease his giggling and look down guiltily. "You think it looks _lovely_ , eh?"

Well Soap wasn't expecting that. "I – I do! It's… your facial hair makes you look ruggedly handsome!" Staring, Price found himself at a loss for words again. Soap also seemed surprised by his own ease of words. "Shite, ah'm sorry if that was… It _was_ wasn't it, that was _weird_? Tha' was _weird_ …"

Price shook his head. " _Lovely_ moustache, _ruggedly_ handsome… Are you sure you've not got a little _list_ in there?" He smirked, peering into the book which, _familiarly_ , Soap slammed shut and held to his chest.

"I – _No_!" Soap denied.

"I want to see more art," Price requested.

"No."

"Why not?"

"'cause… I don't know what's _in_ here."

"Something to remain _hidden_?" Price teased.

"Hopefully the _rest_ of my bloody functionin' brain…" Soap grumbled and Price raised a brow at the sudden change of mood.

"Your brain's functioning _fine_ , Soap…"

"No it's not!" Soap snapped back. "I'm a bloody _mess_ … I – P- Br – Such a bloody mess that I've forgotten your _name_!"

Oh. "Price…" He muttered.

"Am I goin' tae be like this forever, Price?"

Price tried hard to keep the frown he felt _internal_. Did Soap… not want to… be around? He was _just_ having some FNG problems. He just needed to get _used to it_. Needed to get closer with Price so he could _be_ there for him. He felt guilty for bringing Soap back and wondered whether Soap's complex was _contagious_. It had been purely his feelings considered. He hadn't even thought about how Soap would feel… coming back… putting up with the issues he'd have to face… "You're a hard bastard," he stated. "You'll make it through."

"How d' you know?"

"Soap, I've seen you do some bloody _outrageous_ bollocks. I _know_ you, even if that's not the same vice versa right now but I'm gunna help you get _better_. You ended up 'ere 'cause you put someone's life before your _own_! You're a hard bastard, Soap. Whether you _realize_ that or not."

The Scot blinked, gazing at Price. He looked absolutely lost and it made Price _ache_. Swallowing hard, Soap spoke out in a lower tone. "Can I tell you somethin'?"

"Always," Price nodded, approaching when Soap's hands ushered him over.

"Ah'm _terrified_."

Speechless, Price did the only thing he _knew_ to do in this situation, hoping Soap's _body_ would at least remember. Carefully, he lowered himself to Soap's level, wrapping his arms around the younger in a tight embrace. Whether Soap saw him as a stranger or not, Price was still… _in love_ with him. Holding that back would lead him to his _grave_. He stayed there, biting his lip when he felt Soap's arms reciprocate the action. Moments passed and he gave his back a gentle pat, speaking beside Soap's ear. "I'll keep you safe." Then, he retreated, keeping himself in check. Soap, on the other hand, couldn't quite _cover_ whatever was going on with _his_ expression. His brows were raised, eyes practically sparkling and Price noticed his breathing was faster. "You _alright_ , lad?"

He just needed time. No one could master a skill _quite_ like Price. "Have you always been such a _sop_?" Soap smirked.

"Why? You planning on addin' that t' your _list_?"

Soap choked, playfully scowling. "There _isn't_ a bloody list!"

"Yet."

They both fell quiet, tension swelling in the air. Soap's fingers drummed against the cover of the journal, his rhythm slightly _off_ and Price was concerned that it would be another issue to confront. _Calm down_ , _just focus on the now_ , he told himself.

"Price…" Soap spoke up. "Do I… have a _love_ in'erest?"

The Brit froze and was _unbelievably_ relieved when Nikolai re-entered. "Sorry I was gone for so long… that took more time than I was expecting."

Glancing to his watch, Price realized he'd been with Soap for nearly an hour! "It didn't feel that long…"

"What's tha' sayin'? Time goes _far_ when you're havin' a _laugh_ or somethin'?" Soap smiled nervously.

"Time flies when you're 'aving fun?" Price corrected.

" _Probably_. Either way, that's wha' I meant!" Soap nodded, but Price could see the contortion forming. Soap was unhappy, and he couldn't do anything about it. He was at least glad to know Soap had _enjoyed_ the time they spent together.

"I knew you two would get along fine," Nikolai stated, making his way over to Price, who was slowly rising to his feet.

 _Do I have a love interest...?_  
The question echoed throughout his head, loud and demanding.  
Memories of Soap moaning, groaning, whimpering and _begging_ filled his head, the noises both distressing and arousing him. The memory of them holding hands, of them cuddling, of them _kissing_ …

 ** _I_**

"Not leavin' are you, Price?" Soap asked, a touch of disappointment in his voice.

"I-uh-I 'ave some _work_ to catch up on, mate…" Price replied. He had to speak to Mac… and Yuri.

Soap nodded. "Oh… well ah – don't be gone f'r _too long_?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Price smiled softly.

 ** _Love_**

The younger Captain shifted in his bed, pursing his lips. "Catch you la'er, old man."

Price gave a wink. "If you're _lucky_ ," he said, voice riddled with tease as he turned and left the room, heading to contact Mac; his heart and mind both _fluttering_ , though he knew full well this was going to be _hell_.

 _Do I have a love interest…?_

 ** _You._**


	9. Hard Bastard

"What happened?"

"What _didn't_?" Price sighed.

"Sounds complicated."

"He killed Soap," Price reported, continuing before the other's voice cut him off. "I thought 'e was _gone_ , Mac. I _watched_ him die, and yet, only minutes ago 'e was sat up talking to me."

There was a lingering pause. "He's… still _alive_?"

"Fortunately. Can't say the same for 'is memory though."

"Care to elaborate, Price?"

"He doesn't remember me, Mac."

Perhaps not the best example of elaboration, but MacMillan knew better than to press the other. In fact, Mac knew a _lot_ about Price. Old partners, they may have been apart for some time, but they had a friendship like _nothing_ else – a bond, a trust that grew with every sentence exchanged. Mac was the only one who knew the _full_ extent of Price and Soap's relationship. His hands were the only ones Price trusted _enough_ to hold the information, or maybe _withhold_ was a better term. If they were public with the information, it could be held against them. If the enemy knew that capturing Soap as bait would draw Price in, they would _do_ it, and apart from Mac, in Price's eyes? No one could be trusted.  
Nonetheless, the words and tone he received were _enough_. Soap meant the world to Price, and merely _knowing_ the balance had been upset was all the detail he needed. Of course he had more questions, how about: _I thought you said he died_? Useless conversation, he knew he'd only receive blunt replies or radio silence. Mac also recognized that Price was never one to sit by and _watch_. He would always avenge, a trait Mac had come to respect, therefore, instead of stepping on eggshells he decided to take the _proactive_ route. "What d' you need from me, son?"

"A location," Price stated. "Our Russian says Makarov used to cache weapons at an old castle near Prague. 'e's got nothing more _solid_ than that."

"Can you trust 'um?" The Scottish accent, notably different to Soap's but even so, brings him comfort. Price had guessed that had been why he'd clicked so _well_ with the lad during his first few months – a reminder of the _good ol' days_. He wondered whether Mac had spoken to Soap, or vice versa about him. Exchanging comments about his old moustache, no doubt.

"What choice do I 'ave?" It was always, undeniably, best to have someone you trust watching your six. But if Price didn't utilize Yuri, there'd be no one else, and all ounces of trust had seeped into the ground by now, never to be retained. Roach and Ghost weren't as deeply invested. "He's got his own reasons for wantin' Makarov dead. Place ring any bells?"

"Aye," Mac confirmed. "We ran drones over a suspect castle back in Zakhaev's day, but we never got wind of our targets visiting the area."

"What am I up against?"

"The place is a fortress. Only one way in or out," Mac informed, pausing to hum. "Unless you've learnt t' fly. Security office on the far side'a the compound, and a command centre north of that. Both were heavily guarded… If Makarov's there, he'll be in that control room.

He'd seated himself just outside the infirmary walls, undisturbed as he puffed on one of his cigars, broken laptop seated in his lap as he typed up a message and sent it _Baseplate's_ way. Price, unlike Soap who took _pleasure_ in facing his emotions, always required a distraction; locating and killing Makarov being _just right_.

"What's this you're sending me?" Mac inquired.

"Equipment list."

"That's a lot'a hardware, John. What you plan on doin'?"

"What _you_ taught me t' do," Price recalled. "Kill 'em all."

Mac was silent on the other end, considering Price's words. The man had become one with himself, truly a top notch soldier and just knowing how much of an impact he'd had on Price after taking him under his wing… _Good on you lad_.

"Think you can handle that list?"

"I'll do what I can for you son, you know that," Mac confirmed before terminating the call.

Price pressed a finger to his headset, ocean hues alert as he spoke. "Yuri, this is Price, get your arse out _back_ for a briefing – _sharpish_ , or I'll leave you behind. Nikolai, spare me a moment, won't you?"

* * *

' _I have something I must do_ , _my friend'_ … Nikolai had told Soap, departing before questions could be asked. The Russian was a friendly gentleman, humorous – which was definitely required in Soap's presence, the less negativity the better. That plan had leapt out the window the moment the Russian left, however, for Soap was now alone, with sections of his memory missing.

Where had Nikolai gone? What was all this business he had to attend to? They all had work, Price especially. It made him feel lazy. Sure, he had some nasty wounds but nothing that couldn't heal! The magazines on the table had become a boring sight, the writing in _Russian_ , making the images his only interest. How come Price couldn't sit and do his work _with_ Soap? He'd make sure to be quiet, if only to get a glance of the man's concentration face. _Not for any specific reason_ …

Nikolai had also informed him on Yuri, who Soap _did_ recognize. Well, the _name_ and the background. He could describe Yuri as well as he knew him, which truthfully – wasn't _much_ , but there was no way he could put a face to the name. Had Roach been killed? Memories intact of the younger man, he remembered certain events – some facts blurred, especially his appearance. A man's face, barely definable, formed in his head, artistic mind sculpting what he thought Roach looked like but it felt like years since he'd seen him, as though time had made him forget. A balaclava appeared over the man's face, skull image printed on and – _no_ , he had the feeling that was someone else.

Soap _tried_ to remember… Tried to remember what had taken place before he… died? Nikolai had yet to reveal _all_ the details to him about that one, so Soap assumed he meant very _near_ death? It was all a mess, really.  
He could remember the shouting and the gunfire, remembered the feeling of _falling_ but there was _no way_ he could describe the details. Who was there? Yuri, he knew that. Yuri was there. Price mentioned that Soap had put someone's life before his own, which _sounded_ like him. Maybe that someone was Yuri? It made sense, seeing as Yuri hadn't visited him yet. Probably some nervous ' _my hero_ ' shite. Then again, he was so bloody out of it all… he could be wrong about _everything_.

He thought back to when Price had sat with him an hour ago. Or had it been more? Less? Disorientation was a real _mood_ killer. It had been nice, however. _Really_ nice. Price's presence, oddly, brought him more comfort than Nikolai's, and yet he felt he knew Nikolai _better_!  
The older Captain had been charming, and Soap would be lying if he hadn't scribbled a _list_ in the hour-or-so he'd been gone. The seat he'd sat at was beside the window, allowing light to grace bloodied skin and Soap wondered whether it had been _his_ blood. After all, Price seemed to have played a significant role in _saving_ him.

' _He carried you here_ , _all by himself_ ,' Nikolai had said.

Soap had frowned at that. ' _Why didn't you offer tae help_?' Soldier mentality, you worked as a team or you didn't survive.

But Nikolai pleaded that he _had_ offered. Insisted, actually, but Price had been _stubborn_. Stubborn like _Soap_. He'd also told him how Price had sat with him during his whole hand fiasco, which Soap could _barely_ recall. He'd remembered the event, but everything following had dissipated, but that could've just been from the trauma of it all – rather than relating to malfunctioning memory.  
Nonetheless, Price sounded like the guardian angel everyone needed. Soap was just lucky enough to be the one _granted_ him.  
Their conversation had flowed, a lot more comfortably than his conversations with others. Even when he'd revealed the _dick tickler_ image he _didn't_ remember drawing. There was no discomfort, Soap appreciated that. Price, so far, hadn't _babied_ him like the others.

Cerulean hues gazed to the leather journal in his lap and he bit his lower lip thoughtfully, glancing around the room as if to double-check he was alone before reaching out to grab it. Diving in, he flicked back through the pages he'd already looked at, scanning them as though the information would be _reabsorbed_ somehow. Soon enough, however, he came to pages he had yet to see. One had multiple sketches of dogs barking and Soap found his expression creeping into that of fueled _disdain_. "Bloody _dogs_ …" He muttered through his teeth, reading over his entry. He remembered regularly thinking – _anything but dogs_. But now, he'd approach any rabies-induced canine if it meant he could get his memory back.

Lifting the pen one of the nurses had given him, he scribbled at the bottom  
– y _ou're a hard bastard_ – Price. He wanted to remember that, wanted to remember who'd _said_ it.

Something he'd noticed was that his hand had _difficulty_ with the pen. Had he just not used one in a while? It was a struggle to manoeuvre it steadily, hand jerking and reducing to a shake which caused him to get frustrated and to give up. Had it always been this difficult? No wonder his sketches were a _joke_. Price had obviously been kidding about it being good. Flipping through more pages, he found another page with multiple doodles, smirking at the one of a detailed nurse. ' _Don't drop the Soap_ …" was written in a small bubble above her head and Soap could only _curse_ that the nurses treating him didn't look like _that_.

Further on, he found a page discussing the older man.  
 _I **wrote** about him too_? Soap thought. Good thing he stopped earlier on when he _did_. The page spoke of how Soap had visited Hereford and the racecourse during his leave.

It read:

Price loved the chase course. Geldings can race 44 years – it's possible I watched some of the horses the Capt. used to.

Funny thing watching civilians scream during the race. Curse God and then thank Him… So much emotion for so little payoff.

Wish I could say it was fun. Got my mind off things. That my heart skipped a beat. But no matter how many pints, how many visits to the pub, I barely rooted for my horse – MacGregor – and even had he won, had he jumped the fence, done a 360 and kicked the Queen in the face, I can't say I would've flinched.

On the way back to Credenhill, saw an old tobacco shop. Picked up a box of Price's favourites – Villa Clara's.

If horses didn't work, maybe smoking will.

The question begged to be asked – what _happened_ to Price? Where had he _gone_? Why had Soap been so _affected_ by his disappearance? Well, considering that he longed for the man to revisit again soon, it wasn't too much of a surprise. Not that he knew _why_ it wasn't.

Unanswered questions that made no sense, with or without an answer – because the context just wasn't _there_.

Villa Clara's. He remembered those. He reached down, tugging the box in his trouser pocket out into the open, pulling his light from his rear pocket before putting the cigar to his lips. Once lit, he inhaled and then, slowly, exhaled – taking in the scent. _Wow_. He doesn't understand it, but he's never smelt something so _homely_. It was like a blanket had just been draped across his shoulders. He realized this was what Price smelt like – wait, of _course_ it was! The journal mentioned them being Price's favourites! Was that what got _Soap_ into them?

Sighing, he continued reading the journal, flicking through some, digesting the information on others but his eyes sprang wide and he almost dropped his cigar when he came across a specific sketch. Two men – one _atop_ the other… clearly… making their… feelings _known_? The first thought that came to mind was that someone had pranked him and drawn porn in his journal while he wasn't looking, but upon further inspection he noted that the pencil strokes were the same as the previous sketches. It was the same _style_ … the same writing beside it…

' _Here's to trying new things_ , _and by new_ , _I mean old_.'

Soap found himself blushing, nervously gazing about the room again before returning to the drawing. One of the men was clearly _him_ , the mohawk prominent upon his unfinished head. In fact, the sketch of him was entirely unfinished. All focus appeared to have gone into the man on _top_ , blazing eyes, _lovely_ facial hair, intent gaze and obvious sweat beading at his scrunched up forehead and Soap blinked. The art itself was amateur, looked as though it had been drawn by a queer school boy, but Soap admired the topping man and found himself running his tongue along his lips at just how ruggedly _handsome_ he looked!

Who _was_ this man?! Had this actually _happened_ or had it been a fantasy drawing? Maybe he'd seen one of the men at the base and allowed his more… _informal_ side some room. Although, this man looked to be more than just _one of the men_. He felt a tingle inside of him, butterflies threatening to burst through new stitches and he shifted, anxious of the heat pooling internally. Maybe he was bleeding? No, no that wasn't it. Groaning, he gave the journal one last glance before slamming it shut, shoving it beneath his _sandpaper_ pillow – under lock and key. _No one would be seeing this_.

* * *

"Gentlemen, get yourselves sorted out, we _leave_ at twenty two hundred. _Dismissed_ ," Price announced, departing from Yuri and Nikolai just in time to see a helicopter touching down, Ghost and Roach hopping from it. Exhaling, he took a moment for himself – rare – before approaching them. "You bring the photos?"

Ghost nodded, holding his hand out to the other. In his grasp were several small photographs – images of crew members for Soap's memory. Ghost and Roach were on _Scot sitting_ while he, Nikolai and Yuri were away, and he hoped if anyone could bring Soap up to speed it would be those two.

"How is he?" Roach inquired.

"Bastard can't seem to keep 'imself out of the bloody infirmary, can 'e?" Ghost jested.

"Well it's definitely _not_ 'cause of the bloody nurses, I can tell you that much," Price mused. Taking the photos from Ghost, he turned and made his way towards the building, gesturing for the other two to follow.

"So what's the deal with 'im?" Ghost asked. "The briefing was… well, _brief_."

" _Here's_ the deal," Price turned to face them, waiting until they were close enough to form a tight circle, keeping his voice low as he spoke. "Soap received a dose of medicine you're not _cleared_ t' discuss. 'e's having trouble with his memory and is healing from some wounds. That's all we really know so far, so don't go playin' the _violins_ if 'e doesn't recognize you, alright?"

There was a pause, Ghost exchanging a glance with Roach. "…Did 'e recognize _you_ , Sir?"

Silent dismissal, Price did not respond, but merely continued his approach to the infirmary, leading the other two to Soap's room. Stopping at the door, he knocked, not wanting to startle the younger.

Soap leaned up, as much as his wounds allowed him to, and peered over to the door. His eyes seemed to light up at the sight of Price, a smile forming on his face. "You finish your work already, old man?"

"Not quite," Price shook his head, leading the two into the room.

The brightness in the other's gaze seemed to dull to confusion at the sight of Ghost and Roach. The skull balaclava was what he noticed first, raising a brow as he attempted to identify them. He knew one was Roach, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what separated them.

Ghost and Roach stood side by side, staring back at Soap who looked overwhelmingly bad. Sure, he was still alive, but bruises covered previously blemish-free skin, cuts and scrapes scattered here and there, not to mention the stains of blood on his skin.

"Christ, you look like _shit_ , MacTavish!" Ghost exclaimed.

Soap's brows softened into a gentle frown. He knew it was a joke, he acknowledged that internally but infirmaries always messed with his emotions and in his position, it was difficult not to take it as a _negative_.

"It's _good_ to see you, Captain," Roach saved.

Realizing his error in judgement, Ghost stuttered. "I – I mean, it's better to 'ave you lookin' like _shit_ than _dead_."

"Sergeant Sanderson and Lieutenant Riley here to see you," Price informed, stepping off to the side. He noticed the cigar in Soap's grip and felt his heart flutter, wondering just _what_ was going on inside the other's mind. "Otherwise known as Roach and Ghost."

"Ringin' any bells?" Ghost pressed.

"Roach…" Soap muttered. He remembered Roach, he'd remembered consulting himself about the lad earlier on. His protégé, in a manner of speaking. Kazakhstan – the downed ACS module, it had been their first mission together. There were details he couldn't quite recall, such as how it ended or when it took place, but he remembered the excitement he'd felt towards breaking Roach in. He'd been so low at that point, maybe the point Price had supposedly gone missing – it made sense according to his journal.

Ghost, he could feel a strong _attachment_ to. Except for his appearance, everything seemed to stick. In a way, he reminded Soap of Price. The accents differed, sure, but the intrusive, unfiltered personality was very similar, or at least that's how he'd seen the other before the brain damage. Now, he just had that surging awareness of _knowing_ but not fully piecing it all together. It was like something was _constantly_ on the tip of his tongue, but he could never quite _find_ it. Azure hues glance to Ghost and he smirks, "Lieutenant speaks before 'e _thinks_ an' Sergeant _wobbly_ – the man, the myth but definitely not the bloody jumper," Soap snorted. "Bells _are_ ringin', just not as many as you'd _hope_."

Price could feel his mood declining every passing minute. The only thing keeping him steady was his _evening plans_. It was a chance for him to expel his emotions through what he did best. It was time away from Soap, time away that he _needed_. "They're going to be keeping an eye on you," Price explained.

Soap's gaze was now fixed solely on Price and he has to keep himself from swallowing under the intense blue. "An' what will _you_ be doing?"

Considering the other didn't remember him, Price hadn't been expecting the _gravity_ in his tone. It felt like an _accusation_ – and why won't _you_ be keeping an eye on me? Sounded like Soap, always concerned for Price's safety but Soap didn't remember him! So why did he _care_? Maybe it was just his natural sincerity and concern for others…  
"Places to go, people to meet," Price outlined bluntly. _Psychopaths to kill_.

"That doesn't sound safe," Soap said, squinting.

"On the contrary, it's the _safest_ thing _f_ ' me to be doing right now."

Did Price not want to spend time with him? He understood it must be difficult for the older Captain, spending time with someone who didn't remember you. It was harder than Soap was giving him credit for, really. He just didn't realize the heaviness behind it.

"You gunna show 'im the pictures, Sir?" Ghost piped up from the corner.

Price shook his head. "No, I'll leave that up to _you_ lads, once I've left."

"Pictures?" Soap chirped.

"Price had us bring some photos," Roach filled in. "You know, of you and the crew. Figured we could explain some stuff to you, if you're feeling unsure?"

Soap smiled, peripheral vision directed at the older man. " _Price_ had you bring 'um?"

Roach nodded.

"I was on th' fence about 'im being a _soppy bastard_ but that's gone an' made my mind _right_ up!" Soap grinned.

Price found himself scowling. Banter didn't flow as comfortably in front of the other two men, especially Ghost who, Price didn't doubt, had _suspicions_ – seeing as he'd waltzed in on them making out. Eyes drifted to the photos in his grasp, the one at the top being of him and Soap, stood side by side like partners in crime, acting too cool for the camera. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought… God he missed feeling the other's lips against his own. Feeling rough hands graze his skin, groping, clutching… Feeling those lips suck at his neck, tongue rippling soft caresses…

" _Price_ , are you alright?" Roach asked, brows drawn in with concern, the three staring at the Captain as he paled in colour.

Blinking, he surveyed their stares and exhaled heavily. "I have to leave soon."

"Where?" Soap bit his lip, now uncomfortable. Price was behaving differently than he'd been earlier, now blunt and distant.

" _You_ just focus on gettin' _better_ , alright? Yuri and Nikolai will be with me, so Ghost and Roach will be your company," Price instructed.

"How… how long will you be gone for?" Soap tried hard to keep from frowning. It's not that he didn't want to spend time with the boys, but how were you supposed to tell a stranger that their presence made you feel _safe_? That you wanted nothing more than to just sit with _them_ , because that's what he wanted most. Just Price and his cigars. He felt annoying, _clinginess_ setting in. Was he seeking validation? Or something else?

"Couple days, at _least_. I'll be back before you know it," if that could be considered a good thing. Stepping up to the younger, Price reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. " _You're a hard bastard_ ," he reminded, voice lowered for Soap's hearing. The other gazed up, hoping to flash him dejected eyes, convince him to stay – guilt tripping silently but Price abruptly, for his own sanity, departed, making his way for the door. He didn't look back as he handed the photos to Roach and then exited into the hall, Ghost calling his name as he caught up, leaving Roach with Soap.

Price didn't halt though. If Ghost wanted to talk to him he'd do it _walking_. The man wasn't having it, however, and gripped Price by the arms, holding him stationary.

"Ghost, I've got things to –"

"Are you _alright_?" Ghost asked, his tone unusually sincere. From the way his brows moved, partially blocked by the rims of his sunglasses, it looked like he was actually trying to _map out_ what to say.

"I told you I'm _fine_."

"I'm not talkin' about whether you've got the bloody _flu_ or not, Price!" Ghost snapped. He glanced around, as if checking they were alone before continuing, his voice softened, just as Price's had done with Soap. "I'm talking about… about _Soap_."

Price attempted to struggle but Ghost's grip remained firm. "I don't want to talk abou-"

"Tough," Ghost bit back. "'cause I can see you're bloody sufferin', mate. Now I realize I'm no Soap, no journal for you to write your _secrets_ in or whatever you bloody do with _yours_ , but you're hurting Price. And as one of your team mates, I'm _concerned_. I may be mighty bloody _aloof_ , mate but I knew well enough what was goin' on between you two. What still _is_ , by the looks of things. Either way, you're not as skilled as you think you are when it comes t' _hiding_ stuff."

Price fell quiet, gaze averted to the nearby wall but he listened to Ghost's _every_ word, eyebrow twitching as he tried to remain in control of himself. Ghost was right, without a doubt. The man was in absolute agony, anguish stretched _beyond_ any bloody infinity but the chance of him admitting such was about as high as Makarov _surrendering_. It was, undeniably, comforting to know someone had _noticed_. To know that he wasn't just being overlooked. To know that not everyone expected him to be made of fucking concrete twenty-four-seven. But even if Soap _knew_ who he was, this wasn't something he'd take to him. Sure, he could _talk_ to the Scot, but there were many things that were best kept secret. Things that he'd experienced that, were he to _discuss_ , he was sure would keep others from sleeping.

"All I'm saying is, even though you _feel_ like _your_ world is collapsing, you keep yourself _safe_ , Price. F' _him_ ," Ghost demanded. Releasing his grip, he then walked away, back towards Soap's room, leaving Price on his own.

Rich blue hues cast down to his watch, two-one-three-oh hours. He had thirty minutes to gather his thoughts and equipment, an unknown sensation brewing in his chest, a new _strength_ acquired after Ghost's little intervention.

He was _going_ to come back from this.

He _had_ to.

For Soap.


End file.
